luna’s post

 

 

“does your dog have three butts? because it sure does look like it”

 

 

Luna is Cadence’s bff.  She spent the night a few days ago and I overheard this hilarious revelation being made while they played with the dog and Barbies in her bedroom.   Seemed like the perfect pre-weekend post to me.

 

ps- If you lifted his tail up in the photo… THREE BUTTS. FO SHO.

 

Happy Friday!

the least you can do is take a look at the incredibly detailed chart i made

Tonight I spent the better part of two hours lurking random blogs and scoffing at other people’s interests and mocking photos of their not-very-cute children.  Of course, in all fairness, you’ve seen what my standard is and it’s pretty hard to top the two cute fruits of my own luscious loins.

And in order to avoid being sucked into the black hole of the blogging world, I made a few rules for myself before navigating away from my very own blog (which is rather good-you should try it).

1. No clicking on blogroll links from these random blogs.  No matter how tempting.

2. Coming to a blog with no nav bar at the top… go back to own blog and start again with the >>next blog>> clicking.

3. Avoid checking own blogroll for updates at every “start-over” point.

4. Do all this in the nude, in bed, with Yankee candle on the side table wafting Fresh Linen Breeze into nostrils.

Now. I don’t know if I’ve just never noticed the >>next blog>> button at the top of my page, or if I’m too self-centered to click away from my own blog at any given moment, but I have never clicked it.  Never.  Cross my heart.  And tonight I found that really, it’s just worthless, so I haven’t been missing much.  It takes at least fifty-something clicks to get somewhere interesting.

Yes.  I clicked on it more than fifty times.  And after my findings at randomly selected blogs one through four, I opened a notepad to keep track of the stats since I couldn’t believe what was happening.

Jesus has infiltrated the blogosphere.  I have to admit, I rarely travel outside my safe little circle of selected reading materials on the interweb.  I’ve been forcing myself to open up and see what other people are reading and then what those other people are reading lately and I’ve really come across a whole shit ton of new stuff I’m following now, but without time to really follow.  Say la vee. C’est. Whatever. La. Vie? Who cares.  Long story longer- Jesus is what people are blogging about.  Not the people I read.  The people I read blog about fascinating shit like gallstones, vajayjays, balls, beavers, and beaches.

  Clicks one through four had bible quotes either in the Title, sub-heading, or About Me section.  Or all of the above.  Four clicks and I already knew I was onto something. Actually, I might’ve said {holy mother of jesus that’s a lot of jesus blogs} out loud. 

aside:

I don’t mind Jesus.  Nor do I mind people who like him and love him and pray to/for/at him.  I’m not a religious person, so if my lack of knowledge about bible and jesus puts you off- just chalk it up to my idiocy and point me to my flaming wheel. Also, I’m pretty sure the j in jesus and b in bible are supposed to be capitalized, but I barely do it when the grammar lady tells me, so just deal.

Back to science.  Because this is essentially an experiment (however podunk it seems).  Let’s go back to the scientific method.

• Ask a Question: what do random bloggers blog about?
• Do Background Research: i have millions of clicks worth of this “background research”. as do you, i’m sure.
• Construct a Hypothesis: i hypothesize that when I click on next blog it will be about jesus, dogs, knitting, or large clans of blonde children
• Test Your Hypothesis by Doing an Experiment: see results below
• Analyze Your Data and Draw a Conclusion: spoiler alert-> wayy more jesus than children and dogs (combined)
• Communicate Your Results: you’re looking at it

Now I remember a little about science class and this whole process because my science teachers were all a little kooky and because I just googled the shit out of the scientific method…so I know I needed some sort of variable just to make the whole thing “fair”.  I opened a new window and started a whole other random blog search starting from my own page again.  Jesus ruled in all windows and tabs.

Now for something I call:

The Completely Official and Scientific Data I Collected Scientifically In My Birthday Suit…Scientific

(the more you say scientific, the more scientific a thing becomes)

click	topic(s)	my thoughts*
1-4	jesus	hmm.
4-10	jesus	very interesting (doing thinky face and tapping on chin)
11	super-blonde family of six	children of the corn
12-22	jesus	yawn
23-26	knitting/sewing	something new!
27-31	jesus	ugh.
32	orthodontics/jaw surgery	“adventures in” really?
33-38	jesus	oof.
39	chickens	WTF
40-46	jesus	zzzzz
47	pro-life	“jesus”
48	dogs	meh
49-50	jesus	must quit now

* I know my opinions are not a valid part of the research, but it’s my data and my blog, so suckit.

 

So what’s next? A pie chart!

 

And, no, you don’t get a legend or a key because it took me an hour to make the pie chart and I’m already tired of talking about jesus blogs.  So…Green is for jesus.

yay.

 

::::Please give me a moment to analyze the data:::

  My conclusion is that many people blog about dogs, jaw surgery, knitting and their chickens/children, but not nearly as many as those who blog about jesus.  

From every decent experiment, things are learned.  Like “a lot of people write for jesus” or “chickens are not nearly as interesting to people that don’t have chickens” or “your own backyard is the safest place to look for blogs”.  Tonight I will say a bloggy prayer and thank the Blog-gods that I have quite the collection of stuff to read on the interweb and am not desperate enough to go on random searches for stuff to read. Again. Unless it’s for science.

 

 

 

If you’ve made it this far, you deserve a special badge.  I can’t help you with that because just look at my pie chart… you’re better than that. Know in your hearts, though that I cherish you and your um… perseverance.

To whom it may concern…

Dear Butt,

Please stop itching.  I really hate that you happen to have come in contact with poison ivy/oak/whatever last week, but I really can’t be seen scratching you with such fervor as is needed while I wait in line at the grocery store checkout with a bottle of calamine lotion and bananas.  Give the steroid pack Dr. Eyebrows gave us a day or two to kick in and everything will be just dandy. 

Thanks,
me-

ps- also, lose the dimples. can’t you tell i’m not fat any more?

 

Dearest Ladies,

Thanks so much for being great about that poison ivy.  I promise you both that the weirdo third nipple looking blister will be gone shortly.  It’s oozy and just gross, so pretend you don’t even see it.  That’s what I’m doing.  And doesn’t it feel nice going braless these past few days? Right on.

Luv ya,

me-

 

Lip,

You and right earlobe need to get together and come up with a good story because I’m pretty sure the baristas at Starbuc*s googled ear herpes after handing over that sympathy latte this afternoon.  Not looking good.  Hang in there.  If butt and boobs can do it, so can you.  Also, stop craving chocolate cake. 

Thanks,

me-

 

Hair,

I washed you today.  You’ve never looked worse, but you smell like a dream.

Sincerely,

me-

 

Flat Abs,

Lookin good, guys.  I talked to lips about the cake thing. I know they don’t make it easy for you.   And don’t worry.  Hardly anybody at the pool noticed those festering blemishes all over you.  They’re practically like beauty marks.  With pus. Still, good job on the looking fit.  *high five 

Your friend,

me-

 

Bajingo,

I know there’s a lot of pressure on you lately to tone it down and act a little more civilized.  It’s bikini season, so you understand.  I can’t have things and stuffs poking out all willy nilly or else little kids might point again and ask if we have {spiders}.  That was the pregnant summer.  I could didn’t see you for months.   Also, who invited that white hair to the party?  Pass the word around. No white or gray.  That shit’s for Betty White.

Thanks,

me-

ps- Thank you for not touching the poison ivy. Seriously. Thank. You.

Baby Cakes

 

Sam(son),

You’re so good at pointing and dancing it makes me jealous.  Happy Birthday.  I love you to pieces.

Mama(mamama)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tomorrow I have something SPECIAL: today you get this.

Tomorrow people are coming over to celebrate Sam’s numero uno birthday.  So I’ve been my naturally neurotic self today peppered, of course, with bits of uber insanism.  I said the eff word in front of innocent six year old concerning colored pencil shavings and/or the ingestion of said shavings by one almost one year old son.

You understand, though.  They fell on the floor.  You know, the one I’ve steam-mopped three times in the last two weeks.

I’ve been on a roll, actually.  With the mopping. Once every two weeks and then every week after Sam started crawling around.  And I have a lot of friggin floor.  Woodish laminate and huge ceramic tiles. Me and the Sh-ark thing are super close these days.  Historically, I am a purist when it comes to cleaning.  Like, do as little as you can get away with and only dust when your mother in law comes over.   I LOVE YOU MOTHER IN LAW!!!!

But, seriously, I mop too much.  Which is weird because I used to treat messes individually (because i’m super fair) … and each tile got it’s own rub-down on the occasion it got dirty.  Some tiles have never been wet at my house. Seriously.

But today. I mopped the crap out of this place as soon as Sam fell asleep.  And what happens?

1. dog barf (TIMES THREE).  yeah yeah, i’m concerned.  don’t you usually eat that right after? (THREE TIMES??)

2. pencil shavings fresh from a sharpener.  COLORED. (as if)

3. one pile of dog poop. (we changed the food. my fault.)

4. two puddles of dog pee. (it rained today, people. and apparently one of my dogs is having “issues”)

5. turkey. cheese. nutri-grain bar.

6. 1/4 cup of sugar. (again, my fault. i was drinking wine and baking birthday cake… sue me)

7. cat hair.

For about six minutes today, white socks and my floor were BFF.

sum mer in two. andddd go.

Sometimes I forget she's not even seven yet. And when I'm letting facebook suck my brains out through my eyeballs I let her watch television.

me- who the hell are those guys

her- that's full time rush (0r something)

me- where did they come from

her- mom. you watched this same commercial a few minutes ago and you don't remember?

me- they're horrible. this is horrible. this is worse than the jon-ass brothers. there's not even a cute one.

her- maybe you don't like it because they aren't daddy. you only love daddy.

me- touche.

her- what?

me- don't say hell or ass

her- okay. is it snack time yet?

Today was the last day of kindergarten. I should be planning fantastic adventures for us to go on, but Sam's napping and I don't want to blow my wad all on the first week. That's my excuse. But really. We got a jump start on the fresh air and freedom thing yesterday.

proof:

and proofer:

and proofiest:

 

It’s officially summer.  Woot.

It’s over. And I mean it. Maybe. Probably. It is. Most-likely. Just read this.

Has anybody ever tried out one of those budgeting websites where you link your bank account and like magic all of your purchases in the last three months are compartmentalized for you like a bento box and then your husband looks at you and says, “you wanna know how much money we spent at ____________ since March?” and you really want to say no, but that won’t make it so HE doesn’t know how much money has been spent at _______________ and you know that by “we” he means “you”, so you just say “Sure” and then he tells you and you gag a little thinking about that new car you’ve been trying to work into the budget because yours makes that clicking noise when you turn left and the tape deck (yes, tape deck) stopped playing that tape that connects to your MP3 player so you’ve been listening to CD’s from the nineties for the last month or so?

Yeah. Well. I have a Target habit. And I blame it mostly on account of that Starbucks nestled in the corner of the place.  That and the fact that without espresso, my day quickly starts resembling that you tube video of the guy begging people to “leave brittany alonnneee”.  My face drips off around three thirty when I pick up the kindergarteners and the questions pick up right where they left off at eight thirty.  {OMG, yes, just have some friggin gum already and NO we can’t go to the blankin’ pool-it’s flippin raining out!}

All joking aside, I cried when I heard the number.  And my dear husband kept saying “we” when talking about going on a hardcore budget as if it wasn’t me doing all the damage.  Sure you’re app-tastic, or app-addicted with that new Incrediphone or whatever the shit that thing’s called, but a dollar ninety-nine every few weeks is not keeping us from our dream vacation or a car that doesn’t make noises and leave puddles of goo on the garage floor.  It’s me. Me and inappropriate love-affair with Super fucking Target. And Starbucks.  The pair are an irresistible force that I am powerless against.  But I think I may have the solution.  Just like booze, these shopping addictions can be thwarted with a little list I tweaked to better suit my needs.  I give you:

The Twelve Steps to Quitting Target

1. I admit I am powerless over you, Target.  My weak-willed soul is no match for your red-tag riddled end-caps
2. I have come to associate your florescent lights and red plastic carts with a higher power.
3. I have made a decision to turn my will over to an actual grocery store for all items food related as to avoid being seduced by your reasonably priced tank tops, candles, and cat hair combs.
4. Have made a searching and fearless moral inventory of my purchases in the last month and {for SHAME}.
5. Have admitted to Jed, the almighty ruler of the household, the exact nature of our wrongs together.
6. I am entirely ready to have coffee at my house every morning instead of in your shiny Starbucks.
7. I have humbly agreed to forfeit my daily, no weekly, okay…..daily outing to see you in order to look my husband in the eye again while answering the question, “is that new?”. 
8. I have made a list of all the stuff I have recently purchased from your shelves and determined you are surprisingly NOT a necessary and justifiable trip. 
9. I have burned, torn, or probably just recycled the coupons I had on reserve as flimsy, papery excuses to see you.
10. I will continue to take it personally when one of your advertisements interrupts my regular programming to alert me of how ill-prepared I am for summer fun.  Your trendy music mocks me, but you can’t win.
11. Have sought a high elsewhere that can satisfy my seemingly insatiable need for Archer Farms, Converse One, and Sonia Kashuk.  There is none compatible, yet I stay strong.
12. Having had a shopper’s awakening as the result of these steps, I have survived my first day of many without you.

 

JG says I don’t have to quit Target.  But he doesn’t know.  Alcoholics can’t have one beer.  Sex-addicts can’t be satiated with a quickie hand-job in the bathroom at Wal-Mart. Ted Bundy couldn’t go on a date and just give her a black eye. (oy. i did.)  I don’t believe I can go to “that place” without bringing home something that is instantly rendered frivolous as soon as it crosses the threshold.

It’s just that way.  So.  I am done with you, Target.  I will never be your mayor on four-friggin-square.  Don’t call me.  I won’t answer.  This is more of a band-aid ripping thing.  You and me.  We don’t belong together.  And I’m sorry.  Sorry that the last thing I came for was a pack of dryer balls.  More regrettably, I just said dryer balls and couldn’t laugh about it.

This is more serious than I imagined.