Stumbling Towards Perfect

A very flat-chested woman finally decided she needed a bra and set out to the mall in search of one in Her size. She entered an upscale department store and approached the saleslady in lingerie, "Do you have a size 28AAAA bra?" The clerk haughtily replied in the negative, so she left the store and proceeded to another department store where she is rebuffed in much the same manner. After a third try at another department store in the mall, she had become disgusted. Leaving the mall, she drove to K-Mart. Marching up to the sales clerk, she unbuttoned and threw open her blouse, yelling, "Do you have anything for this?" The lady looked closely at her and replied, "Have you tried Clearasil?" I want boobs. Well, I actually have boobs, they're just less cantaloupey and more fried eggish. I'll never have surgery because (1) it's expensive and I'd rather go out to dinner at really nice restaurants with fabulous foods and (2) I don't like in

I had intended to be back at a decent hour.  Except, you know how things go... later than usual. So, I sent a courtesy text to Big V letting him know what was up. I arrived home to find him sitting in the comfy chair watching Rambo or Rocky or whatever movie that was. He finally acknowledged my presence at the commercial (as if he was going to miss some key component to a movie he's seen 487 times before): So, where did you go to get tampons this late? What? You sent me a text saying you were stopping off to get tampons... No, I sent you a text that said I was stopping off to get homemade tamales . Oh. .... Just curious, but what exactly did you think a 'homemade tampon' was? I don't know... like maybe you needed someone to make them wider or something. Just stop talking.

I am amazed beyond belief. And that doesn't happen often. Except for that one time when I discovered the art of dipping Ranch Doritos in ranch dip. Blew. me. away.   This is like that, only with way less finger licking and much better breath. See, I discovered that Sharpie  will allow you to personalize your pens. Oh, yes. That means I can have a thousand Sharpies with my name on them ! Which was never possible when I was a child, because my name can be spelled four thousand ways, none of which was ever stamped on a ruler, pencil or a bookmark. But I digress. Back to the personalizing of Sharpies. Anyone who knows me knows I love me my Sharpies. I take special care in purchasing calendars and planners with pages thick enough to support the Sharpie. (You can't be organized with bleed through's, you know?) I get kind of territorial over my Sharpies, too. Hands off if they aren't yours, got it? So, imagine my excitement when I learned I can put whatever I wan

This weekend I watched three kids who were at various stages of 1-year old for two hours straight. Without vodka. And even though they were seriously the best kids on the entire planet, I now realize why God has never blessed me with multiples. Because God does not give you anything you can't handle. And when He looks at me He's all  uh-uh, not for you. No, you can't handle this. You will barely be able to tolerate nasty, crusty socks left on the living room floor; twins or triplets would throw you over the edge and I have bigger plans for you. Plans that include an early retirement and a vacation home in Bora Bora, but let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we? For 120 minutes I was able to view life through the eyes of a Mama Cat, scrambling to gather one kitten-child back to the middle of the living room floor where all the fun toys were, only to find that now another kitten-child had escaped the nest. Do cats have nests? And then I would go find that part

Actual message I received from the Teen Bean: i know you dont aprove of me getting my belly button pierced but last night my friend did it cause my dad was too lazy to bring me...and it got stuck so i learned my lesson. Honestly, I don't know why I'm not an alcoholic by now.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of movement and looked over towards my left. There he was. Crawling up the wall. Mere inches from where I sat.  We have a bug problem in our office. Every couple of days you'll see a spider or beetle or ant or earwig or other random creepy, crawly things traversing about. It totally gives me the heebie-jeebies. Mostly because it reminds me of: Once, in the middle of the night, I got up to go pee, and you know how you're not really awake and your eyes are half closed but you still know where you're going because you've walked this same path a million times so you could totally get to the toilet it in the dark? Well, it was like that. Half asleep, shuffling to the bowl, I sat down and did my business. And then I wiped. Just like a thousand other times. I grabbed the toilet paper from the roll beside me, balled it up and wiped. Except something most definitely did not feel right . I didn't know what it was exa

I now have proof that I did not "make up" the whole Bill Cosby Picture Page thing. Picture Page is a for real fact, people: I kind of feel like justice is served and my life's mission is complete. Thank you, YouTube, for helping me prove Picture Page's existence. Now, if you only had video documenting which one of my siblings really started the epic food fight of 1985, I could finally establish without a doubt that it was not me .

We were at work for a lot of hours without any computers to do any work on and when there's no computers I start thinking about what else I could be doing around the office that might not require a computer. The first thing I did was wipe down the wall next to my desk where I accidentally splashed half my latte once when I was dramatically and enthusiastically making a point. The point was don't slam your cup down or the contents will splash everywhere and nine weeks later you'll have to wash the wall when the computers go down . Let's just say I made my point. And then I started to file. But that pretty much bit the big one so I decided to change the goose's outfit instead. See, one day the Co-Worker decided we needed an office mascot so he brought in a goose that some lady pushed on him when he was at her house during an inspection. (Don't worry; it wasn't alive.) You might think that people try to hand us money so they can make sure they pass build

Reason #817: Colorful Text Messages I got this picture text from my sister a while ago and just thought I would share: "I would be so good at swear word Scrabble." Sorry for the vulgarity of this post, Mom. You know, she was always the naughty one.

These are Big V's dirty socks. He comes in from a long, hard day of sweating in his feet and rips them off. At the door. And then they sit there. Until I pick them up. But I haven't picked them up. For three days I have not picked them up. And for three days he has walked past them. Over them. Around them. And yet I have not picked them up. For three very long days...

Last night I practiced tolerance as I watched Big V tear off his overgrown, crusty toenails and pile them up on the end table. We were supposed to be bonding together while watching some MTV Real World Road Rules Challenge with the Enemy show but I couldn't actually watch the show because instead I was looking at him sitting next to me thinking this has got to be the grossest thing I have ever witnessed while trying not to hurl. And then I thought of the time my little brother got his finger torn off and I didn't know the appendage was actually still in his winter glove, all I saw was the glove go flying and then him running to an area of fresh clean snow that he kept flipping his hand around in and then all that snow turned pink and my sister sped out of the woods with him on the back of one of the 4-wheelers and I picked up the glove and kind of shoved it as far as it would go on my hand (which lucky for me wasn't past my fingers) and me and my cousin walked back out of

A couple weeks ago I hobbled into the ER expecting to be diagnosed with a heart attack, or neuro-syphilis, but instead spent a couple lively hours talking through the curtain to total strangers.  It turned out I was overdosing on allergy medication. And also that I was pregnant. Which was a total shock to me because I was pretty sure it was too early to tell that. Apparently they caught the sperm as he was hooking up with the egg and saw it all go down. And then the weird people on the other side of the curtain were all congratulations! So, there I sat, twelve seconds pregnant thinking this is going to be the longest blasted pregnancy in history because who ever finds out the second after they conceive? That was Monday, the 20th. I went home stunned and worried because (1) it is impossible for me to keep my trap shut so there is no way I could keep this silent for the next obligatory twelve week waiting period and (2) it is impossible for me to keep my trap shut so I was bound to le

In an effort to ensure I never get chosen as Mother of the Year, I allowed my 9-year old to go camping with friends. She's been camping with them once before; albeit a short, weekend trip just about an hour's drive away. This time they were headed up north. Over five hours away. For a week. A full week. I dropped her off on Friday evening with plans they would be leaving bright and early Saturday morning for Land o' Lakes, Wisconsin . Did I mention it's over five hours away? Anyway, she called me last night, sobbing. They had decided to stay longer and wouldn't be home until Sunday. She begged me to please just promise to come pick her up. You know, over five hours away. She's my baby; of course I promised. But I didn't actually have an address. Should mom's get the actual address of where their child will be residing for seven days? Perhaps I should have. And also, perhaps I should have said no to the whole camping bit. Why? Because this is the

I'm currently accepting applications to find a special friend for Big V. Perhaps we could call the position Mansitter . Because if I don't find someone soon I might explode. Or maybe Big V would explode. Accidentally, I mean. Not like premeditatively. Because that would be very wrong. But the man doesn't seem to understand that I have a really good book that I am currently obsessed with called The Kitchen House  and so I want to read that really good book and not have to entertain him. And by entertain I totally mean look up from the page long enough to acknowledge his presence . Because it is a really good book . At least the first half of the book is really good and so I expect the second half to be just as exciting because if it's not then I'm totally planning a Eh, it was alright campaign and then no one will ever bother reading that disappointing book and the author would be upset. But maybe not, since all of you probably immediately scrambled to buy the