Stork Screw

Thanks to my supreme parenting skills, my son now thinks he comes from a urinal.

I know.... I know....

I should have gotten a book to explain where babies come from but I thought…hey, I had a baby…I should be able to do this.

It’s not like I’m trying to explain how to change a tire or anything.

And plus, I thought pictures would be gross.

What I didn’t expect to encounter were the dodge balls of giggles, EWWWW’s, THAT'S DISGUSTING’s and THAT'S NOT WHAT I HEARD's I'd have to side swipe before getting in at least one coherent sentence.

What the hell were they talking about in the school hallways that sounded so much more glamorous than what I was putting down here?

Apparently, I’d shattered some pretty glitzy misconceptions of conception.

And in the end, I have a feeling that all my son got out of the whole damn thing is that mommy is a giant egg hatcher just like the Queen Alien and Daddy is the cool one with flying sperm.

Having to convince him that Daddy doesn’t really need a cape and a seat on the Justice League for this grand feat was a whole other conversation.

And I take umbrage (now there’s a word nobody gives a crap about anymore) to taking a back seat to flying sperm.

I want my cape dammit!

Pffft! …..Flying sperm

Please!

I hatch eggs!!

Oh well, at least I filled up his what-I-learned-over-my-summer-vacation-arsenal.

Think I’ll get letters home in September?

Well I Declare

I have a friend who is always making some kind of profound personal revelation or conclusion.

Revelation after revelation.

It’s like a re-run episode of the Bible or something every time I talk to her.

I swear, if they ever did a remake of that thing, she'd get a starring role.

Conclusion after conclusion.

And at this point, I don’t know if she’s conclusive or concussed.

Let’s just call her Concussa for the purpose of this post shall we?

So, Concussa and I have maintained a very distant friendship over the years- as we’ve have had more falling outs than a slippery diaphragm.

And I do my best to try to avoid any future confrontations and, make no mistake, scrambling out of control like a cat stuck in place on a hard wood floor is not beneath me.

Who doesn’t want to eliminate the level of their personal chaos if at all possible?

I have enough nuts in my cereal thank you.

But how do you divorce a long time friend who drives you to drink...more?

People get divorced amicably all the time.

Why not old, worn-out-not-good-for-either-one-of-us-anymore-it's not you it's me... blogblogblog...friendships?

What the hell’s so wrong with that?

But, try as I might, she won't let me. Stubborn Concussa that one.

Stubcussa?

So what do I do to compensate whenever I do speak to her?

Well, I just calmly answer with the word really after every new revelation.

It is much easier that way.

And truthfully, once I say the secret word Hello, she only lets me get one damn word in anyway.

(Just so you know, I really don't know where I'm going with this post but I can't stop..I think I have New Job Brain Syndrome)

So, to keep myself entertained….. In my head, I do the reallys in different voices.

I'm not that difficult to entertain.

“Hello?’’ damn blocked caller ID “Oh hey Concussa, how’s it going?”

“Well….....revelation, revelation, revelation......and so I decided that I am never going to put up with that crap again”

“Really?” – Scooby Doo

“Yeah, and I’ve also come to the conclusion that I have to.....conclusion, conclusion, conclusion...

and tell him to shove it!”

“Hmmm….Really?” – Randy Jackson

“It’s just not worth it and I’m better than that so from now on …revelation, revelation, revelation.....….and this time I mean it!”

“Sounds great Concussa…. Really”- Mr. Crabs

….This post could go on all day but who has the time?

It won’t ever be any different.

Any thoughts?

Reezy...I mean really, – George Jefferson

I’m open to any ideas.

Fear Floats

You will all be glad to know that my fear of change in starting a new job this week was quickly replaced with an even bigger fear.

AN IMMENSE... MAMMOTH SIZED FEAR.

Bigger than me, bigger than all of us!

bp oil spill?

No.

Terrorism?

Uh uh.

Global Warming?

Nope.

Ready?

It was the fear of being labeled as the girl who had to use the whole can of Lysol in the smelly bathroom at 8:00 am.

I was set up I tell you!

The girl who came out before I went in even smirked a little knowing that I would take the blame.

Well, that’s one for my new Bitch List.

Somebody had to be first right?

Anyway, I had to go in.

Couldn’t turn back.

Couldn’t let out a big “GOD IT SURE STINKS IN HERE DOESN'T IT?!” before going in so that nobody would get the wrong idea.

It was my first day after all.

But I don't want to be known as Mrs. Crap Alot!

Not even on my second day.

So, still holding my breath, I came out with at least 15 less brain cells than when I went in.

Lysol kills more than germs man.

And ran to blog flush it here.

I feel much better now thank you.

Or maybe I'm just still high on Lysol fumes.

.... not bad.

In any case, my good smelling name is finally in the clear....here at least.

Sorry, it’s how I process.

Ever been falsely accused of crap?

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