It's Not The Restroom Baby....

First off, thanks to everyone who gave me advice on my log poop problems. I inadvertently fixed my own problem because lately I've been craving spicy food and I want to put chili lime salt on everything! In turn, that's made me drink a lot of water, keeping me well hydrated (which I'm usually bad at). This is helping the conveyor belt move things along quite nicely.

Anyways enough about poo (I know, I can't believe I'm purposely getting off the topic of poo. Historical moment, mark it on your calendar.) - this past week has been the longest week in history because we moved, AGAIN. Locally, not too far - the size of our house and our rent is significantly smaller which is just fine with us, especially with the baby coming. And really, that huge house we were in was nice until I realized it took a full 24 hours just to vacuum the place and don't get me started on the bathrooms. Viking hubby and I practically had to work in shifts to get everything clean. So yeah, small house? = better. Writing a rent check that doesn't make my asshole pucker up and eat my own underwear? = Priceless.

In the middle of all the chaos of moving was my little munchkin's birthday which we celebrated at Sea World. (Had to keep it kind of low key on the party scene since we didn't really know where we were going to end up a month ago.) She turned 6 and when we measured the growing girl, we discovered that she's 3'8 which means she is 1 foot away from being the same height as me. God was really not in the mood when it was my turn to get torso. It's like he cut a normal torso in half, gave the bigger portion to me and the other portion to Verne Troyer.

On the pregnancy front, now that my poop issues are out of the way (smoothly and without struggle I might add), I actually forget I'm pregnant. Well up until I get hungry. It comes at me like a tidal wave. One minute I'll be just fine and the next minute I'm in such desperate need for food that if Verne Troyer was around, I'd bbq his little ass and eat him with a side of rice.

Please don't ask me why Verne Troyer is the ongoing theme of this blog post. The man just pops into my head at random times and haunts me....


Merry Christmas and you're welcome.

Tonight I'm off to see Kathy Griffin do a book signing in La Jolla. I'm very excited even though the weather has been in the 30's in the evening and I'll be freezing my ass off, it'll be worth the wait! I can't wait to meet her and have her sign my book! I"ll just have to double up my socks and use my gays to block the wind. Hags get all the perks don't they??

Helloo? Is it me you're looking for?

I SWEAR on a bag of circus peanuts and baby Jesus' dirty diapers that I will post something worth reading (or seeing..I might do a vlog due to time constraints) soon because the Queen twat post below is getting chewy and downright smelly.

Meanwhile, for your Tuesday enjoyment please enjoy Tyrone Jones' super delicious moves. And try not to get so jealous...

Give me a Heapin' Helpin of Tuna with a side of vitamin beer please!!

To my darling marketing campaign geniuses over at Stampede Beer,

I’m confused. I don’t know , maybe I should start drinking some of your beer to ‘smarten’ me up but I’m kind of scared of your product because I don’t really understand what you’re trying to say with Jessica Simpson as your spokesperson. Am I going to end up on the back of a truck full of hay, in cowboy tranny gear, with my mouth half open like a slow kid who breaths loud if I drink or don’t drink your beer? Please explain.

I know the mind automatically jumps to Jessica Simpson when the word “smart” is involved, I mean who could forget the deep philosophical discussions she had about chicken or tuna? Or unearthing the secret of the ages on national television? (buffalo wings is actually CHICKEN? Thank you Jessica, you MENSA card carrying member you…). But her whole “village idiot trying to do simple math” look with the word ‘SMART’ written in front of her sends confusing messages about your beer.

Next time might I suggest using the tried and true selling point of Jessica Simpson? (I’ll give you a hint; they’re under her shirt and if you’re still stumped, go ask Papa Joe - he’s handled her money makers before). Or maybe I’ll be really smart and just not drink your beer ‘with vitamins.’ Which is pretty much like a triple layer cake with sugar free icing. Your tag line should really read:
"What swelled liver? You’re getting your daily dose of vitamin C and B12 with each can! Drink it up Mr. Athlete!”

With Love,
Yo Momma.


To My Darling Lindsey,

So you supposedly like WOMEN right? You’re openly attracted to WOMEN? You’re down with heapin' helpins' of tuna? Okay, I can respect that. My question to you is, if you’re attracted to WOMEN, why did we decide to date a 12 year old anorexic boy that looks like he got into a fight with a box of Nice & Easy? Hmm? An explanation is needed young lady. You’re a slightly attractive girl who makes good money, couldn’t we have dated someone who looks a little less like a prepubescent grocery bagger with sticky sacks and more like someone who actually showers and has a Virginia?

On the positive side, it looks like your girlfriend could take a mean hit off a giant bong, re-chain a BMX bike and hammer up some drywall - all in one day. So who knows, maybe you like how flat twink asses look in a pair of Dickies and a tool belt. Or maybe it just goes to show that whether it be men or women, your judgment is clearly impaired when you snort enough coke to kill a "women's" softball team.

Next time, leave lesbian dating to the experts!

High Five Ellen!

With love,
Yo Momma

Dear John Mayer,

Is it your 1980’s workout pants? Is it the constant yammering you do on and off the stage? Is it the painful diarrhea face that you get when you sing? (click on that link and tell me that's not your new desktop wallpaper!) I don't know what it is but it seems as if every time I see you, I get the feeling that if I stick your head up my nay nay and squeeze hard, I would get “Spring Flower Fresh” scented vinegar water to squirt out your ears and give me that oh so fresh feeling.

And why do I get the urge to do that when I see you?…. or Shia Lebouf?…. Or Justin Timberlake?….Or Spencer Pratt? …or Katherine Heigle?????

It’s a disturbing thought, but I think I’m not alone in feeling that most celebrities are about as useful as vaginal irrigation devices.



With love,
Yo “oh so fresh” Momma.


Otay ya'll, I'm off to Mizzery, Moosorry, Mizzo tomorrow for a whooole week to visit some family and take a well deserved vacation in a cabin...on lake.....in a remote area of the wilderness.......with no internet....who's nearest neighbor is probably someone named 'stabby Joe' (thanks Shannon)....
City girls with big imagination + sleeping in remote wilderness = screeching at every owl that 'hoots' in my direction and mistaking every tree as a one-eyed hillbilly cannibal.

Maybe this won't be such a relaxing trip after all.
Wish me luck as I go off on my own midget Blair Witch Project. Pictures and made up horror stories coming soon! Stay Tuned!

FLF Tough Love. The Late Dinner Edition.

What? Did you think FLF was gone? Were you scurred??? Ayyyy, Pobrecita!
Well get that thumb outta your mouth and dry your tears dears, cuz you KNOW FLF is here. (bebox break)

Word.

Dear Pink,

First, let’s just get one thing straight. I love you. You know I do and I don’t care how much you’re starting to look like Spicoli.
I.
Love.
You.
However, I must admit, I’m a little frightened that your v-curb man abs ends with a mushroom cap tip if ya know what I'm sayin...You have a great body and thank you sweet baby Jesus that you didn’t get water balloon boobies on layaway like the rest of southern California, but maybe we need to ease up on the 500 crunches a day and possibly get a pair of sweatpants that don’t look like their hanging on to your boxer briefs for their dear life. (deep breath. Exhale. Whoo. run ons do tucker me so..)
Remember, I love you. Don’t beat me up or stick the tip in okay? I’m just saying this for your own good. If your husband likes to get a home style “colon cleansing” from his wife in the bedroom, that’s between you and him. But you do know that you can buy helpful tools for that activity at the store- don’t feel pressured to grow one out yourself girl. The ones at the store come in various shapes and sizes that I’m sure the hubby would love and they’re not nearly as hard to put away (or clean) as a real one. Ask Fergie. That bitch does not go anywhere without her double sided tape.

either way, elephant trunk or no elephant trunk, I'd still let you smack me around a bit. ;D

Love,
me.



Dear Peter,

First things first, the next time you use up all my eyeliner I’m going to have to smack a ho. You can buy that shit at Target you know, it should be in the same general area where you get your facial masks and tweezers.
But never mind that…what I really want to know is, do your teabags actually have to shrivel up and fall off for you to get the urge to make your eyes look like two piss holes in snow? or do you just have to have small jingle jangles to appreciate ladies makeup? Its admirable if you’re “secure” in your “manhood” and don’t mind looking like Tammy Faye Baker after running a marathon …in the summer ….wearing a polyester jogging suit. In fact, you know what? I take it back. You go ahead and be rock and roll with that eye make up. What the hell do I know? Take it up a notch and don some crotchless, edible panties, a hair weave and tie a silk hankie around your neck ala Mr. Furley. I promise you that you will be the Rambo of rock n roll and maybe you’ll be so overwhelmingly manly that no one will notice that Pink stole your sausage roll.

Rock on Sally.

Love,

Me.


Dear Bobby Trendy,

You look like a fat man’s fart stain after he’s eaten a pound of lemon starbursts. Nothing says, “Big Bird took a fat dump on my shoulder” like gold silk scarves from Wal-Mart. Recently you told Tyra what it was like have a vajajay and no boobs.
(sidenote: Tyra, really? Bobby Trendy as a guest? Was the Carrot top not available??)
Please stop lying about having a tuna Bobby. By the looks of your Claire’s Accessories jewelry, I KNOW you can't afford to have your peen detached and last I checked, an oral and some glittered covered food stamps do not count as a form of payment at the surgeon’s office. So just be honest, your mud diver shrank from sheer and utter embarrassment. Don’t be ashamed to admit it.

Oh by the way..
Are you gay?
Just curious because the glare of your Bonnie Bell lipgloss is obstructing my view.

Love, me.



That's it. That's all. After some recent death threats from three wonderful readers .
(me? Exaggerate? No.) I guess Fan Letter Friday is here to stay. Are you happy DD? Do I still have to send you a case of Tang?

HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND EVERYONE!!!!! :P