Thursday, July 19, 2012


Reason number  a lot that I'm going to hell;

I was on the elevator just now coming back from lunch when a two year old little girl announces to me very cheerfully

"You gots a BABY in you tummy!"

And for just a moment, I glanced over at her mother, face frozen in horror, clearly praying that I'm not going to go all pyscho fat bitch homicide baby killer on her, praying that her sweet little pigtailed oracle hasn't just commited the ultimate faux pas, and for just a moment, perhaps a moment too long, I contemplate bursting into tears as though mortally offended.

But I? I HAVE TURNED A CORNER and I'm all cherubic and shit and so I said "Yep!" and let the mother breathe again.

Where's my fucking gold star?

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

So that my husband will SHUT HIS FACE

I'm posting a blog entry. I KNOW. But he won't shut up. You know what? I'll show him. By posting the contents of our conversation yesterday. In which he asks for whores.

Me: Is this your plaid? Because it's very expensive. (explanation: I'm looking for the Campbell tartan that his current kilt is made from. mmmmmm kilts)

A: It's *a* version, but not the version which my kilt is made of. My kilt is at home. You can look...

Me: You’re being difficult. Fucking Campbells.

A: How about "will you take a picture of your kilt and send it to me?" Fucking Murphys.

Me: Stupid logical Scots. All the time with the logic.

A: You know what I love? Being insulted. You know what I love even more? Knowing how to change quikset locks.

Me: I’m adorable. And pregnant. And can cry on command. SOMEONE WILL TAKE ME IN.

A: I'll bake them a cake. 

Me: Or, you could bake ME a cake and I’ll be  much more sweet tempered and cease insulting your lineage.
A: I think you're a lying liar. I've been burned by you and your afore mentioned lying lies before!

Me: In relation to cake? I doubt it. We all know what I’ll do for cake.
A: Yes, but once you've HAD cake, you're completely out of control. Your bewwy huwwwts and cake won't make it feel better and you just want to make the world huwwwt like you do.


Me: Fairly confident it’s your fault in the end.

A: Naturally.

Me: I’m glad you’re  coming around. Now about this cake you’re baking me. I like chocolate.

A: I will bake you cake if you stop and pick up cake mix. And if it's chocolate. And if I get to lick the bowl. Do you see that? FIRST he maligns my heritage, THEN he implies that he'll put me out into the cold world ALL ALONE and THEN when I generously allow him to win back my love he asks me to bring him WHORES. This is what I deal with.

Oh. And I'm pregnant. Surprise?

For reals. This is my deal. Take it or leave it.

Me: Do we need anything else?

A: Ladies of the night.