tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-935608988249344562011-10-24T09:57:33.304-04:00abozubgok8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-87170118996429457942011-10-15T11:19:00.000-04:002011-10-15T11:19:12.812-04:002011-10-15T11:19:12.812-04:00Ways to Die at The Maryland Zoo in Baltimore<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong>Walk across this moving bridge when it moves a little too much.</strong></div>
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<strong>Explore the dark bat cave on a cold rainy day when there's no one at the zoo to hear you screaming if an ax murderer is hiding behind a corner.</strong></div>
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<strong>Suffocation by giant <strike>nutsack</strike> bird's nest.</strong></div>
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<strong>Fatal case of goat herpes, or bleed out by bitten off tongue</strong></div>
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<strong>Embarassment.</strong></div>
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<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-8717011899642945794?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-76527724465084225762011-10-13T15:02:00.005-04:002011-10-13T15:02:39.555-04:002011-10-13T15:02:39.555-04:00FoodTruck The GatheringJoe and I have a semi-secret dream to someday run a food truck. We'll sell portable pizza and pies and call it the Pie-By (let the timestamp show I posted this 10/13/11 so that I can sue some assbag if he tries to steal it) and it will be awesome. Everyone'll want a pizza the action (see what I did there?)! Until we hit the lottery though, or some rich family member we've never met dies and leaves us a fortune, we'll be frequenting others' food trucks and taking critical notes as food truck hopefuls. <br />
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We went to <a href="http://articles.baltimoresun.com/2011-06-30/entertainment/bal-food-truck-rally-gathering-20110630_1_food-truck-souper-freak-iced-gems">The Gathering</a>, Baltimore's monthly food truck rally, last week for the second time. My main motivation in going was to try some chocolate covered bacon (aka Heaven?) from <a href="http://gypsyqueencafe.com/">The Gypsy Queen Cafe</a>. While I was standing in line I was imagining the raving review I was going to write about my slice of Heaven and the Crab Cone that I had previously been skeptical of. I was going to have Joe take suggestive photos of me sucking the tip of the cone dry and everything because it was going to be <em>that good</em>. I rehearsed my order in my head God knows how many times because I didn't want a stutter or a slur or a volume issue to delay my face stuffing by even one second. <br />
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When I finally reached the line and ordered and got my total, I died a little inside. Something like $28 to feed just Joe and I, not including drinks. But they had the goods and I needed a fix so I didn't hesitate to hand over my debit card. Then Baldy McGypsyDude tells me in his best asshole voice "Uh. We're cash only tonight". What the fuck? Who uses cash anymore?? Ok, I realize that like 1% of the population does visit the bank still, so I had confirmed with the merchandise tent lady BEFORE getting in line to make sure they were taking cards, on the off chance that the Holders of the Bacon were catering to the 1%. Who knew Frizzy McGypsyBitch would lie to a customer, or that Team McGypsyDicks would not communicate this fact amongst each other and/or then put up a goddam sign on their truck to spare folks like me from standing in a long line just for the biggest let down of their Friday?<br />
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I ended up not getting anything because of their colossal douchiness. I'm disappointed though. And I'll probably give them another shot at some point, because aside from this Cash Only crap, they're doing a lot of things right. So with their inspiration, here's how I plan to run a successful food truck.<br />
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<strong>1. Have an awesome name.</strong> When Joe and I went to our first Gathering a few months ago we got these bombin Turkish tacos from... some truck. I don't know if the name wasn't memorable or if the truck wasn't labeled correctly, but they could take a lesson from the clever-named, more identifiable trucks, like Gypsy Queen, <a href="http://www.icedgemsbaking.com/">Iced Gems</a>, and <a href="http://souperfreaks.com/">Souper Freak</a>.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Something falafel, something gyro-ish, and something chicken from the something truck</em></span></div>
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<strong>2. Be recognizable.</strong> A quick google search led me to the name of the taco truck - <a href="http://www.cazbar.pro/">Cazbar</a>! Not a bad name, not sure why I didn't remember it. But I did remember its big bright redness and knew it immediately when I saw it on the search. Good save, Cazbar! Also at the top of this list, along with the Gypsy Queen, is <a href="http://www.flippinpizza.com/track_trucks.php?coast=east">Flippin' Pizza</a>.<br />
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<strong>3. Provide variety. </strong> If you wanna roll with the big trucks, you can't just have chocolate and vanilla soft serve, or cheese and pepperoni pizza (sorry whatever ice cream truck was there and Flippin Pizza). Gypsy Queen wins hands down on this one with their menu of tacos, burgers, seafood things and desserts. Or if you're going to focus on one type of food (such as cupcakes or soup or grilled cheese), then figure out a way to make it different than the boring shit I'm going to make in my own kitchen. Perfect example: <a href="http://grrche.com/">GrrChe</a> offers a grilled cheese sandwich with mac&cheese and pulled pork.<em> Yeah</em>. (However, GrrChe clearly skipped rule #1).<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Burger cupcake from Iced Gems!</em></span></div>
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<strong>4. Provide quality.</strong> I hate to dish on Flippin Pizza again, but we got Violet a slice of their pizza and it tasted like soggy day old Dominos at best. I know I'm eating food from a truck, but I don't want it to taste like that, you know? I want to feel like I'm eating food with Tom Colicchio, not Andrew Zimmern. And let's face it, I could easily be fooled into thinking your food is top quality if you just throw some frou-frou ingredients on it, like lobster and truffle oil and watercress. Mmm, that sounds like rich person food, I'll have some!</div>
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<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I'm high on cupcake!</span></em></div>
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<strong>5. Make food that people want.</strong> The food truck version of <a href="http://www.putabirdonit.com/">Put A Bird On It</a> is Put Some Bacon In It. The most successful trucks I saw had bacon on their menu, because people can't get enough of its greasy salty disgusting deliciousness for some reason. So give the people what they want! Consider a truck called BACON, painted like a slice of bacon, serving different variations of bacon-wrapped bacon. Also, this is Baltimore, so incorporate crabcakes and Berger cookies and you've got yourself a food truck. Honorable mention to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Creperie-Breizh/125604280827096">Creperie Breizh</a> with the Nutella.</div>
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<strong>6. Make your menu visible.</strong> If you are a food truck on the side of the road and your name or decor haven't made it clear what you are trying to put in me, and if your menu was printed on a 8.5"x11" paper from a bubblejet, I will not patronize you. So fix that. Big ups to Iced Gems on this one for their dry erase magnetic strips stuck on the side of their van!</div>
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7. <strong>Take advantage of social networking. Seriously. </strong>Except don't expect <em>me</em> to "Like" you because I've already had to hide all the other trucks I like to avoid going broke or (re-)getting fat when they pop up in my newsfeed and tempt me to meet them at their current location in Baltimore City.</div>
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<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I told him "Look hungry" and this is what he gives me?</span></em></div>
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<strong>8. Don't be a dick.</strong> Ok, obviously I'm just a little sour still about not getting my crab cone. Gypsy Queen is lucky they're doing so many other things right so at some point I'll get over myself and hand over my $12. Had a less successful truck left me hanging, they'd be done to me.</div>
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<br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-7652772446508422576?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-50274330157279020782011-10-07T11:56:00.000-04:002011-10-07T11:56:07.245-04:002011-10-07T11:56:07.245-04:00Future scared white womanWhenever I turn the vacuum on, Leela starts yelling and screaming because she's scared of the loud sound. But then she crawls toward it as fast as she can to see what the sound is. <br />
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It reminds me of the opening scene of every thriller/horror movie where the young, vulnerable, pretty white lady is home alone at night and she hears a noise in the next room of her giant house, and rather than calling the cops or getting the hell out of there, she walks <em>toward</em> the sound with her wooden spatula as a weapon, and everyone in the audience is screaming NO YOU DUMB WOMAN, TURN AROUND!<br />
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I hope Leela gets some sense to her before she can run.<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-5027433015727902078?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-10454229216763897882011-10-05T21:22:00.000-04:002011-10-05T21:22:00.829-04:002011-10-05T21:22:00.829-04:00There's another man in my lifeHis name is John John. <br />
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He's Violet's imaginary friend.<br />
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And he fucking creeps me out.<br />
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Our first introduction to <a href="http://eunuchhorn.blogspot.com/2011/07/teenage-mutant-ninja-honkies.html">"him"</a> was in July, right after Joe and I had watched a scary movie in the past week, and Violet's all pointing to the doorway in our bedroom and talking to it like they used to be best friends but haven't seen each other in a while. WTF. Anyway, so then a few weeks later, he's in our living room by a doorway again. She's telling me where he is and then walking over to him and handing him stuff. They even played flashcards! Which is cool with me if this weirdo ghost guy wants to keep Violet up on her letter sounds (though he seemed to kinda suck, because she kept saying "What's dis?.... noooooooo!" It's obviously a Q idiot. Anyway.) For a while she was seeing him everywhere, and even though he's not real I felt violated. Why is this <span style="font-size: xx-small;">imaginary </span>MAN in my house alone with me and my two daughters, <em>playing</em> with one of them? And not helping clean some dishes or something at least?<br />
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She forgot about him for a while, or maybe he was out of town, I dunno. But then he came back, and now his name is John John! (Oh, maybe he was an illegal immigrant and he was away trying to get his papers in order?) The weird thing is, Violet has NEVER named anything. Any time I ask her "What's its name?" she repeats back to me "What's its name?!" with her little over-inflected voice. The closest she's come is when I was "helping" her name her My Little Ponies the other day, and I named one Purple Nurple and she changed it to Purple Durple (one of them is also named Dave - for some reason that makes me laugh). So on one hand, that's kinda cool that she maybe has hit some Gives Play Objects Names milestone by giving this "him" a real human name. But on the other hand, <em>what if he gave himself that name</em>? And just now told her because he was tired of hearing me ask what his name is all the time? All the what-ifs that come with this John John fella are just too much for me (What if he's sitting on my lap and laughing while I poop?! <em>Because that's what I'd do if I was a ghost.</em>)<br />
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So, I dunno. This guy needs to get out or start contributing to the bills. I don't think he eats anything, except maybe souls, but he's probably walking around turning lights on and off all the time when we're sleeping, so ghost better gimme my money!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-1045422921676389788?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-59192154560573806542011-09-28T14:52:00.001-04:002011-09-28T15:03:22.845-04:002011-09-28T15:03:22.845-04:00Kid craft: Fridgerpillars!I have really resisted making this a mommy blog because I'll be damned if these things take over my <em>entire life</em>.<br />
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The fact is though, I spend approximately every single waking second with these children, feeding, clothing, wiping their various orifices, building block towers, applying popsicle lipstick, teaching them, learning from them, separating them in a Little People Plane fight, and sometimes yelling and then feeling guilty. And on the rare occasion I'm not with them, I'm hoping they're ok and that Joe has remembered to feed them. I'm a <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=mombie">mombie</a>, whether I like it or not.<br />
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They're pretty cool kids anyway, so to deny myself and my blog of them anymore (not that I was really doing <a href="http://eunuchhorn.blogspot.com/search/label/Mothering">that great a job</a>) is just plain bogusness. And maybe I'll start updating more often again this way. So with that! Begin the Lamefest!<br />
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Today I came up with my own little craft that I'm pretty proud of! It's not really <em>that</em> great or clever or anything and probably not even an original idea, but I didn't follow any How-To for it, so uh, booyah.</div>
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We have an abundance of sticky button magnets and fridge art and a shortage on cute fridge magnets. I went through all of our craft drawer today and the end result was this guy...</div>
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I'm not going to insult your intelligence and give you a step by step instruction list on how to do this, because I'm not a dick like that. I will, however, give you a pre-written shopping list in case you don't have all these things on hand already. I'm a Dollar Store whore, so you can make like 25 caterpillars for maybe $6 if you're so inclined. Or you could make some fancier ones with craft store supplies for not much more money (but I'm poor folks).<br />
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You need:<br />
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<li>Construction paper</li>
<li>Googly eyes</li>
<li>Fuzzy balls</li>
<li>Craft sticks</li>
<li>Self-adhesive button magnets</li>
<li>Pipe cleaners</li>
<li>Glue</li>
<li>Marker</li>
<li>Scissors</li>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>For those of you with a photographic memory.</em></span></div>
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I made the faces first. I cut the circles out and let Violet draw all over them, and I drew a few too obviously. The cool thing about it is even if your kid's no genius like mine and doesn't know how to draw a smiley face yet, the second you plop those googly eyes on there suddenly it's an identifiable face. You'll be looking at the squiggles like "OMG, is that a nose she drew right there?! With a booger in it even! Such attention to detail! And look at the smile she drew - that caterpillar must be smiling because she loves her mommy! Hey check out that mole!" Once you guys are done scribbling and drawing faces, put two little dots on there and let your kiddo place the googly eyes on. I don't know why, but it just about made Violet's life getting to put the eyeballs on herself. Then apply antennaes and sit aside to dry while you work on the body!<br />
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<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">What's funny about this picture is you can't see Violet doesn't have any pants on.</span></em></div>
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I threw some craft sticks down and shot some glue in their general direction and told Violet to apply fuzzy balls. I was actually impressed that she managed to put them all on the sticks in an actual caterpillar-body-fashion, but I'm sure they would have looked just as adorable with holes too. <strong>Note:</strong> two mistakes I made - It's easier to stick the magnets on the back BEFORE the front is covered in fuzzy balls, and leave a little space of unglued craft stick to apply the head. I managed to fit my heads on there, but I expect them to be decapitated by the end of the week. <strong>Also note:</strong> If you're feeling ambitious, go ahead and add some legs. I would have done so with my extra pipe cleaners, but caterpillars have like 40 legs, and I wanted my fridgerpillars to be <em>life-like </em>(like-like amputee caterpillars). And I'm lazy. An easy solution might be to use a strip of construction paper along the bottom and cut every quarter inch or so, to create "fringe" legs? Mine are done and I'm not editing this anymore, so if any of you over achievers go for it, post a picture (and thanks for showing me up,<em> a-hole).</em><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IycWcvSwR-8/ToNqqliJwCI/AAAAAAAAAIY/oiKtkneg00k/s1600/body.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" kca="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IycWcvSwR-8/ToNqqliJwCI/AAAAAAAAAIY/oiKtkneg00k/s320/body.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
Then, parade those little fridgerpillar fellas up on your fridge surrounding only the prettiest artwork. You're welcome!<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PQMLHR9nVek/ToNsqK5T9HI/AAAAAAAAAIc/WiMe6P9mlAk/s1600/fridgerpillars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="406" kca="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PQMLHR9nVek/ToNsqK5T9HI/AAAAAAAAAIc/WiMe6P9mlAk/s640/fridgerpillars.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-5919215456057380654?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-34405968554940149442011-09-22T22:09:00.001-04:002011-09-22T22:11:33.617-04:002011-09-22T22:11:33.617-04:00I'm getting Joe some of those TV Ears for ChristmasHoly craaaaaaap I haven't updated in forever! I just haven't had anything to talk about because I've had a <em>really</em> lazy week or two and haven't actually interacted with people in a while.<br />
<br />
And speaking of crap, I have a little TMI-licious story to share.<br />
<br />
<br />
Joe: <em>Home from work, walks in front door, as I'm walking away from front door.</em><br />
<br />
k8: Hi, I have to poop and then take a shower, do you need me for anything first?<br />
<br />
Joe: What? No?<br />
<br />
k8: <em>In bathroom with door closed and shower running. Pooping.</em><br />
<br />
Joe: <em>Opening door slowly. </em>Oh, I do need to pee before you get a sho...<br />
<br />
k8: IMPOOPINGSHUTTHEFUCKINGDOORGETOUT<br />
<br />
Joe: Ewwwww I heard it! What the fuck! Why didn't you tell me you were pooping! <em>*dies a little*</em><br />
<br />
<br />
This is what I live with. The man doesn't hear a single word I say to him ever, and then when he has to deal with the repercussions of not <strike>hearing</strike> listening to me, he freaks out. HOW do you not hear me say loud and clear that I am about to do my business, but you have the perfect timing to hear a quiet little poop sound over screaming children and a running shower? Because. Men are retarded. Another one of my favorites is when I will ask him to hand me something that is directly next to him ("Can you hand me the diaper by your foot?") then he walks away from it looking for <em>anything</em> I <em>might</em> need because he only heard "hand me". Or when I say his name 4 times trying to get his attention, then I finally YELL his name, and he's all "Why are you yelling at me?! You can't just start talking to me when I'm not paying attention!!"<br />
<br />
So I wanna get him some of those <a href="http://www.tvears.com/">TV Ears</a> for old people and keep it on Volume 11 so he won't have a choice but to hear what I say to him! Or maybe they could come up with an anti-selective-hearing For Married Men edition that absorbs and interprets every word I say that he misses (all of them) and shoots instructive electrode shocks into his brain through his ears so he can't say he didn't hear me when I told him we're going to my mother's for dinner this weekend. Yup. Get working on that TV Ears!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-3440596855494014944?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-279595907302480472011-09-09T21:36:00.001-04:002011-09-09T21:36:16.427-04:002011-09-09T21:36:16.427-04:00Obligatory Potty Training PostHey Nature! High five for making this week-long rainfall coincide with the depletion of Violet's diaper supply!!<br />
<br />
We've been stuck inside all week so I decided to take advantage and take a stab at potty training. Errr, my intention wasn't really to potty train, because that sounds entirely too ambitious. But I figured I would put her in undies and pretend for a week that I don't mind cleaning up puddles of piss on the floor, and if at some point in this week she happened to take a preference to putting that pee in the potty then I'd push it, but if not then I'd just "squeeze" her little tush in Leela's diapers (I say "squeeze" because Leela has the biggest ass of any 7 month old ever and Violet fits in her size 4 Huggies better than Leela).<br />
<br />
Day 1: Monday was Labor Day, so I took the day off from the non-essential momming. Basically I changed diapers and fed them and then let them "work out their problems on their own" in the morning, then in the afternoon we headed to my mom's for an indoor cookout where I proceeded to stuff myself full of egg salad and hamburgers and throw my children to my mother. So pee cleaning was not even on the radar for this day. Off to a good start!<br />
<br />
Day 2: Tuesday, Violet woke up and I removed her 8 pound diaper and just never put one back on. By nap time we had one puddle in the kitchen chair, one river following the length of the hallway, and one pair of Foofa undies holding up a shit-tail. After nap I delayed her Pull-up removal a little while, then she freeballed it with no accidents until her bedtime Pull-up which I'm sure was soaked before that cute little booty even touched the sheets.<br />
<br />
Day 3: Re-read Day 2, but add a defeated Me sitting on the sidelines, ready to call the whole thing off.<br />
<br />
Day 4: Thursday, Violet wised up to the fact that she doesn't like wet undies or legs, and she DEFINITELY doesn't like getting a bath every time she wets herself (she may or may not be bath-averse and I may or may not have been using that in hopes of scaring her dry), and decides to hold it ALL. Morning. Long. With nap time comes Pull-up time, and imagine that, all her business was waiting for me when she woke up! I had been trying to coerce her to the potty using stickers, which was mildly exciting for her, but at the suggestion of a friend, decided to break out the big prizes after lunch. You see this half of an Oreo? You sit on that potty in front of hours of the television show of your choice and you can have this half of an Oreo. You want the other half? Pee then, goddamnit. She never did get that other half.<br />
<br />
After dinner though, we were sitting in the living room doing family-sitting-in-the-living-room stuff, and Violet's cheeks let out a magical little toot right in front of my face. Lovely. I casually suggested she go fart on the potty, 100% expecting a "Nnnnooooo" and a grump face. She went into the bathroom and plopped herself down on that seat and I went about my business because I was sooo over her teasing me with the potty "attempts". Then I look over at Joe's face (who is standing outside the bathroom door) and to see the delight on his face you would have thought he just saw a pair of beer-filled boobs. "She's actually going! Oh my god, she's peeing! Did you hear her? She just said something about water coming out of her hooha!!" <em> No shit?!</em> No shit! I was so proud of that single pee that I almost wanted to cry. I probably would have cried if Joe wouldn't have made fun of me. Instead we celebrated with ice cream and dancing and high fives all around.<br />
<br />
Day 5: Today, Friday, we woke up and I removed her 6 pound Pull-up and put a fresh pair of purple undies with rainbow waistband. NO ACCIDENTS! But only because she held it until nap time and let loose in her Pull-up. After nap, again, NO ACCIDENTS! But not a single drop in the potty either. I just put her to bed half an hour ago in her Pull-up and can only assume she's swimming in it now.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure where the kid gets her stubbornness from, but I sure as hell will never admit she gets it from me.<br />
<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Bathrooms are for face-makin, not pee-peein. Duh.</em></span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-27959590730248047?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-54873992145127526752011-09-06T21:54:00.005-04:002011-09-06T21:59:30.330-04:002011-09-06T21:59:30.330-04:00Roll Model: Future Flying Squirrel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
When I watched that video, my first reaction was to shit my pants. My second reaction was "I COULD DO THAT!" And I won't even need the wing suit!<br />
<br />
I'm officially lighter than I've been in at least 3 years and am now wearing pants that I've had packed away in my "motivation box" along with some hope. It's kind of awesome rediscovering a new wardrobe that I don't even have to pay for - though I do look forward to these clothes being too big for the first time ever so I can go buy some hoochie mama clothes! Not really. Well maybe. Seriously, <a href="http://www.parentfail.com/wp-content/themes/parentfail/user_images/12-fail....jpg">no</a>.<br />
<br />
The only crappy part of losing weight, aside from having to show restraint around a pan full of brownies, is all this skin I've been stretching for the last 26 years. I haven't lost enough yet that I look like <a href="http://theincredibleshrinkingbride.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/0328_star_jones_wi-1.jpg">Star Jones</a>, but I plan on it. I frequently describe my stomach as a mudflap after what the girls did to it, so I have no reason to expect the rest of my skin to magically shrink. My only hope is that the shit will get a friction infection so I can convince my insurance to cut it off for me for free. (Yeah, I actually just wished an infection upon myself. Such is the life of a poor person.)<br />
<br />
So anyway, 50-60 pounds from now, I'll be spreading my arm skin and tying my mudflap down to my shoelaces and jumping off cliffs along this guy. If that's not motivation to stay in the game I don't know what is!<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://www.thephoenix.com/OutsideTheFrame/content/binary/flying_squirrel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="201" nba="true" src="http://www.thephoenix.com/OutsideTheFrame/content/binary/flying_squirrel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Weight Watchers helped me lose 100 pounds, and now I can FLYYYYY!</span></em></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-5487399214512752675?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-16529883686617018242011-09-05T08:45:00.000-04:002011-09-05T21:16:00.584-04:002011-09-05T21:16:00.584-04:00Things That Need to Be InventedSelf Cleaning Everything<br />
<br />
An implantable chip that gives husbands the ability to put their socks in the proper dirty sock area<br />
<br />
Dissolving window walls to all maxiumum air flow into the house on breezy days<br />
<br />
Insta-grow walls to replace the dissolved walls when it starts to rain<br />
<br />
Pre-potty trained newborns<br />
<br />
Hovering houses (no more flooded basements!)<br />
<br />
<strike>A suit of wheels</strike> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GCNmYUYa6Xo">Already exists!!</a><br />
<br />
A second right arm attachment for painting my first right hand's fingernails, because I can't do shit with my left hand<br />
<br />
Free blowjob machines<br />
<br />
Anti-gravity pills so I can fly<br />
<br />
<strike>Sheet suspenders so that they stay tight on the mattress</strike> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sheet-Suspender-sheets-smooth-tight/dp/B0014AMBWK">Already exists!!</a><br />
<br />
<strike>Adult onesies (because I am tired of seeing your asscrack, Joe)</strike> <a href="http://www.bodysuit.com/mensbodysuit1.html">Already exists!!</a> (though not practical to own many unless you have a killer disposable income)<br />
<br />
A child-safe, safe-for-daily-use sleeping gas chamber<br />
<br />
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<a href="http://ep.yimg.com/ca/I/bodysuits_2175_5678706" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://ep.yimg.com/ca/I/bodysuits_2175_5678706" xaa="true" /></a></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">This little lovely was taken sraight from the Adult Onesie website...</span></em></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">P.S. I can't believe how many of these things already exist. And for those that don't, I would appreciate that the people stealing my ideas actually steal these ones.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-1652988368661701824?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-77449597071270834712011-08-30T22:28:00.002-04:002011-08-30T22:39:36.038-04:002011-08-30T22:39:36.038-04:00I'm shitting craft sticks. Thank you Irene!Let me present you with a series of events.<br />
<br />
-<a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&q=2200+York+Road,+Timonium,+MD+21093&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=97.87704,114.433594&ie=UTF8&z=16&iwloc=addr">I buy an iPhone</a>, discover that I can snap and upload pictures of Violet to facebook EVERYWHERE ALL THE TIME, as well as do other fun internet things<br />
<br />
-iPhone breaks years later, I realize I spent too much time on it!<br />
<br />
-Violet's new book becomes "The Berenstain Bears Too Much TV", which I read nightly over top of the sound of the TV<br />
<br />
-I notice the computer battery is dying earlier than usual and needing to be plugged in when it used to last all day, and assume it is because the battery is going up<br />
<br />
-Hurricane Irene hits! Transformers blow!<br />
<br />
-I live approximately FOREVER with no lights, AC or fans, phone, television, stereo or phone. Basically I camped in my own house for 2 nights.<br />
<br />
What happens next is I discover I LOVE a life free from technology! When my phone went up, I felt like I was dying without instant facebook access, so I started bringing the computer out into the living room for "periodic" check-ins. I was still taking Violet out for our playground trips and library trips and playdates, but while we were at home I didn't realize how much time I was spending on this stupid lap top. I feel horribly guilty now that I'm thinking about it. I did think to myself that maybe I heard Violet asking me to put the computer down a few times too many, but surely I wasn't ignoring her or choosing the internet over her because that would make me a bad mom.<br />
<br />
Honestly though, now that I'm out of it, I knew I was being a bad mom to her! I wanted a way out but I just couldn't figure out how to put the Internet down. THANK YOU HURRICANE IRENE for the technology detox and helping me defeat my facebook addiction. I wonder if it's possible that I was <em>actually</em> addicted? Whether I was or wasn't, I hope I never feel that constant aching draw toward it ever again. Violet and I did so many crafts the past few days that I'm basically shitting craft sticks. And oddly enough, I haven't had one anxiety attack since before Saturday either. I bet the pharmaceutical companies have some deal going on with the television and computer makers to emit anxiety-inducing radiation so that people will have to buy anti-anxiety drugs! Hmmm, something to ponder.<br />
<br />
Something else to ponder: why are our fingers all different lengths?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9o9qlOCq0ng/Tl2edq6k3lI/AAAAAAAAAHE/YydPAZGY-SE/s1600/P1040094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9o9qlOCq0ng/Tl2edq6k3lI/AAAAAAAAAHE/YydPAZGY-SE/s320/P1040094.JPG" width="180" xaa="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a93jDMxxEq4/Tl2emWUOkiI/AAAAAAAAAHI/0weSu7-ZteE/s1600/P1040103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-a93jDMxxEq4/Tl2emWUOkiI/AAAAAAAAAHI/0weSu7-ZteE/s320/P1040103.JPG" width="320" xaa="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><strong>A</strong> is for my mom's an <strong>A</strong>sshole</span></em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-7744959707127083471?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-10576606511826598632011-08-26T01:24:00.000-04:002011-08-26T01:24:29.843-04:002011-08-26T01:24:29.843-04:00A picture of me in a bright orange dressI was never into dressing up in high school (or now for that matter). My uniform consisted of slip-ons, ratty jeans and a t-shirt/sweater/old man cardigan/old lady doily vest. For occasions where I HAD to dress up, I wore my "nice" slip-ons, my "nice" dark jeans, and a button up under my sweater/old man cardigan/old lady doily vest. At the ripe old age of 26, I'm still a jeans and t-shirt kind of person. I can appreciate the fanfare of getting all dolled up, but I'm just too lazy to do it ever.<br />
<br />
For some reason I really dug prom though. I thought I looked decent in my dress, I didn't do that bad in the BIG ASS heels considering I'd walked in heels like twice in my life before then, I managed to keep my hair-do intact all night, and I even did my own make up! The music sucked (I guess I like the song but who plays Sweet Home Alabama at a <em>high school</em> party?) and I could have done without 85% of the people there, but the limo ride was special and at the after party I had my toes sucked on a dare (<em>changed. my. life.</em>). It was a novel experience for me, and it by no means converted me to the type to <em>do</em> my hair everyday (or ever) or <em>own</em> make up, but I definitely could understand why people would get a kick out of looking pretty.<br />
<br />
So my friends and I decided to do it again the next couple years. We called it Mock Prom and we went to Hooters in Downtown Baltimore and we wore our dresses and we even did superlatives on sashes (and we TOTALLY called Melissa on "Most Likely To Leave Her Man At The Altar"!) and I'm sure we danced in the middle of a street somewhere. If we had the means, we would have absolutely had a full blown dance floor/DJ/crabcake dinner/limo ride home kinda Mock Prom.<br />
<br />
I just recently found out that "Adult Prom" is a <em>real thing</em>. A)WTF, I'm more convinced than ever that someone is stealing all my ideas and executing them on a grander scale and making money off my shit. B) I haven't read a single person have anything positive to say about Adult Prom. Really people? If it's the wording, maybe I can understand that. Personally I think Mock Prom is way catchier, and it takes out the hint of patheticness that results when you lead another word with "Adult" (another example being adult diaper). Most people though seem to have an issue with the fact that prom just plain sucked and you're just plain stupid if you'd want to redo it. But maybe those most people need to get a sense of fucking humor. It's as if everyone thinks just because some dork at the NY Times called Adult Prom "<a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/12/us/12prom.html?pagewanted=all">A Second Shot to Have the Best Night of Their Lives</a>", that people ACTUALLY considered that the best night of their lives. Yes, I bet the 60some year olds who have had weddings and children's birthdays and sleepover weekends with their grandkids think all that pales in comparison to High School Prom. And the 30somethings attending Adult Prom think getting the keys to their newly built home is cat shit compared to High School Prom. It couldn't be that they enjoy an excuse to dress up in tacky dresses and get their hair curled by a professional and it DEFINITELY couldn't be the excuse for a mani/pedi. And I'm sure the nostalgia of a person's younger days have nothing to do with it. I know I gave up sliding boards the second I turned 18 because nostalgia and fun are lame and evil.<br />
<br />
Rich people have some sort of <em>gala</em> going on every damn weekend. And have you seen some of the clothes that rich women wear? Rich Person A: <em>Hey, I'm having a charity event this weekend, please come and please wear a shapeless dress made entirely of sequins a la Golden Girls but somehow it's considered fashionable today.</em> Rich Person B: <em>Ok cool! Hey I farted, please come to my "Release Party" and wear all magenta! </em>And no one is judging them. I like to think of Adult Prom has the poor man's answer to that. Sure, we'd love to buy dozens of multi-hundred dollar dresses every year for a business launch party or charity auction or any random event you can think of. But we can't. So we search the clearance rack at Sears during prom season, or EVEN BETTER, wear our original prom dress, then we stick a tuxedo t-shirt on our husbands and we enjoy a night of silly style and ridiculousness with similarly silly and ridiculous company.<br />
<br />
And now that I have defended Adult Prom, if one is ever organized in Baltimore I BETTER get a free invitation.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XXfg4aw9pd8/TlcWmit4wCI/AAAAAAAAAGc/zpqao8ev8_E/s1600/P1030896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="158" qaa="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XXfg4aw9pd8/TlcWmit4wCI/AAAAAAAAAGc/zpqao8ev8_E/s400/P1030896.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">All dressed up and no Adult Prom to be at.</span></em></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">PS Just kidding about the toe sucking changing my life. It was enjoyable in a that-tickly-feeling-intrigues-me kinda way, but I'm no perv.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-1057660651182659863?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-60729482758270999222011-08-22T11:05:00.002-04:002011-08-22T11:11:30.550-04:002011-08-22T11:11:30.550-04:00Put down my iPhone? Maybe.Joe's probably gonna be pissed that I'm sharing our patheticness with the public, but a blog wouldn't be very much fun if I withheld personal information (like how the only thing I like about wearing socks is pulling the sock fuzzies from between my toes). So, due to the recent combination of mismanaged funds and the fact that we just don't make enough fucking money anyway, Joe and I recently lived more than a week on $30. Then we got paid, yay! And now we're back to nothing again, hooray bills. In the meantime, I stopped paying my cell phone bill because I was tired of being raped by my iPhone every month, and now I've gone a whole week without ANY phone.<br />
<br />
<div></div>It's been quite the adjustment because I've never gone without ANY phone since high school, and I haven't gone without a smart phone in maybe 4 years. I used to always be the type who said I didn't need a phone except to make occasional calls on-the-go... then I discovered texting and realized I couldn't live without that either. The great thing about texting is you don't have to have a full conversation at once. And you don't even have to actually TALK to anyone at all (I totally have a thpeech imped-imped-impe-duh-ment, so I hate talking). And if you just don't feel like interacting with someone, you can just ignore a text for hours. Or days. Or forever! Not that I'd do that, but I like the option.<br />
<br />
<div></div>So then a few years ago, I was living at my mom's house, had very few bills, and was into spending money on things I didn't need. So I bought some kinda (crappy by today's standard) smart phone. Internet! At my fingertips at all times! On break at work! On the shitter! At a stop light! Walking down the street! And a full keyboard?! And TOUCH SCREEN? *phonegasm* It was the best. Then I got an iPhone - The Holy Grail of phones (Android users, you just don't even know, so stfu) - and I made the decision that it was iPhone or no phone. iPhones are the black of phones, and once you go black, you never go back. <br />
<div></div>Fast forward to me now: semi-responsible, with a mortgage and bills (so broke), mothering, and enlightened about myself and my priorities... but most notably, broke, and with two really cute little girls to adorn. I LOVE being able to take pictures of them wearing silly hats or going down a big slide (or the <a href="http://pic.epicfail.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/slide-fail-playground.jpg">Fail Slide</a>), but there's that whole broke thing going on still. And there's also the fact that with being able to connect to the cyber world with such ease, and with me having no will power, sometimes it's <em>too</em> easy. Too often I find myself saying "Oh Violet, how cute that you smashed blueberries all over your face! Let me take a picture and upload it to facebook! And since I'm on facebook I might as well check out everyone else's status updates. Oh that reminds me of a funny story I have to tell about you! Must update! Hmmm, I should text Daddy about that too. I wonder what Daddy wants for dinner tonight. I'll just look up a recipe real quick!" Half an hour later I finally realize Violet has left blueberry fingerprints all over the house, and blueberries are a bitch to clean up.<br />
<br />
So here's the Pros and Cons of an iPhone:<br />
<strong><u>PROS</u> </strong><br />
<ul><li>Easy access to Facebook, Safari, YouTube, Email, apps</li>
<li>Pocket camera to capture the smiles of my children and embarassing photos of idiot people</li>
<li>GPS for when I'm lost in BFE, Baltimore, or for when I need to locate the nearest McDonald's because I'm too lazy make a real lunch</li>
<li>No pesky buttons to touch</li>
<li>Music player on the go (I never even used this feature, but like I said, I like options)</li>
<li>Part of the special club that only iPhone users get to be part of</li>
</ul><br />
<strong><u>CONS</u></strong><br />
<ul><li>I cannot resist its fancy screen-rotating and page-swiping sitting all alone in my back pocket</li>
<li>I don't pay enough attention to my children</li>
<li>I probably don't pay enough attention to my husband either</li>
<li>It costs the equivalent of 2-4 pieces of grown-up clothing a month, which I could desperately use because I am currently wearing a shirt I bought for $.98 in 2001 (Happy Decade Anniversary to my favorite shirt!!)</li>
<li>If it breaks I'm too poor to replace it</li>
<li>I'm ADD enough without it</li>
<li>Does anyone really care <em>that much </em>that Leela army crawled 3 feet?</li>
<li>A regular <em>boring<strong> </strong></em>phone makes calls and texts just as well (ok, the text part is debatable)</li>
</ul><br />
So anyway. That's why I'm considering just dropping down to a free brick phone with a few minutes a month and texting abilities so that I still don't have to actually talk to people. It'll save us a ton of money and maybe I'll be participating in the mess-making with Violet more often instead of just cleaning it up. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://pophangover.com/images/parent-fails-2011-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" qaa="true" src="http://pophangover.com/images/parent-fails-2011-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Must Upload To Facebook NOW!</span></em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div>Plus then I can judge all the moms I see updating their facebook status on the playground, because that's what we moms do (<em>judge</em>, I mean).<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-6072948275827099922?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-13402802121109805752011-08-19T21:24:00.000-04:002011-08-19T21:24:03.606-04:002011-08-19T21:24:03.606-04:00It's happening!Remember I was talking about how I suck and <a href="http://eunuchhorn.blogspot.com/2011/07/why-ill-never-follow-through-with.html">never follow through with blogging</a>? Well... I feel I'm slowly drifting towards Neverneverblog Land. I blame part of that on the fact that I realized last week that my father and sister read this crap and now I feel all violated. Like I <em>realize </em>this is a public blog and all, but I just assume that when I post something A) no one will actually read it, and B) that the few people who do read it don't actually know me as more than a bunch of words on a screen. Good thing I didn't write anything embarassing or incriminating about either of them, like how I'm pretty sure one of them smokes the ganja.<br />
<br />
Another reason I haven't been blogging is because I have a very specific idea for a Roll Model blog and I'm so ADD that every time I sit down to write I can't think about anything else but this hypothetical blog... and curtains and unicorns and zombies and Dora... but nothing else blog-related. Unfortunately it involves me taking pictures of myself, and I just haven't lost enough weight yet to voluntarily post pictures of my <a href="http://eunuchhorn.blogspot.com/2011/08/roll-model-my-weight-loss-segment.html">fat flaps</a> on the internets.<br />
<br />
So until I get drunk enough or rich enough to get the whole world drunk enough to put their beer goggles on while viewing pictures of me, here's my latest random thought, brought to you by <a href="http://pinterest.com/sk8withk8/">Pinterest</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cX5WW5fSJqM/Tk776g6ybXI/AAAAAAAAAGA/W18W-cvu05I/s1600/waterbed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qaa="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cX5WW5fSJqM/Tk776g6ybXI/AAAAAAAAAGA/W18W-cvu05I/s320/waterbed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
You know what would be the most comfortable place to sleep ever? <em>Space.</em> The second most comfortable place? <em>Underwater. </em>Wearing one of those underwater breathing apparatus from Harry Potter. OMG I die just thinking about it. With all the warmth and weightlessness and no back pain and no boob squishing if I want to sleep stomach down. Like being in a womb, but less gross. I want this. Ok? You hear that inventors? Make this happen for me.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">P.S. Before anyone says anything, it is <em>nothing like a fucking water bed. </em>With water beds there's still gravity and blankets and sheets that get twisted when you roll over and pressure points and that nasty *sloshglosh* sound anytime you move. Oh, and don't even get me started on sleeping in a water bed WITH someone. Water beds? Worst invention ever. A "bed" inside water? Genius. When you go to test out the Water Chamber 3000 at Sleepys a few years from now, you just remember you have ME to thank.</span><br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-1340280212110980575?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-21980917547926035372011-08-17T00:08:00.000-04:002011-08-17T00:08:02.544-04:002011-08-17T00:08:02.544-04:00An envelope of moneyThree or four years ago, I was walking through a parking lot and found an envelope containing a<em> substantial</em> amount of money. I picked it up and put it in my pocket and kept walking. The whole way to the store I thought about how many <span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Weekend-Ghetto-Blaster-Cassette-Radio/dp/B001N8BIAY?ie=UTF8&tag=abozubgo-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">radio purses</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=abozubgo-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B001N8BIAY" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /> and <span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/wd-12-assorted-slap-bracelets/dp/B003C6AW7K?ie=UTF8&tag=abozubgo-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">slap bracelets</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=abozubgo-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003C6AW7K" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px !important; padding-left: 0px !important; padding-right: 0px !important; padding-top: 0px !important;" width="1" /></span> I could buy, or how I could pay off an entire year worth of bills (I was young and living at home. It'd last maybe 2 months now. *sigh*). Then I walked into the store and turned it in. </span><br />
<br />
<span>Everyone I told about it couldn't believe I didn't keep it. Some people were downright ANGRY that I didn't keep it. Everyone was like "WTF IS YOUR PROBLEM?". For whatever reason, it's been a popular topic again the past few weeks, and whenever I talk to someone about it they STILL think something is wrong with me. I guess my problem is I'm not a sucky human being<em>.</em> SERIOUSLY. It is so crazy to me that anyone could keep this money for themselves. When I saw it, I couldn't not imagine who it belonged to. I have a crazy soft spot for poor little old folks, so I imagined this belonged to some old lady who had just cashed out her dead husband's pension check and this was her livelihood for the whole month. Or what if some kid had been saving up all of his birthday and Christmas money for his whole life and was about to go buy a puppy (or 10). What if it belonged to a stripper and in losing this money she had essentially just flashed her vag thousands of times for free. Or what if it was someone's donation to an orphanage. Would you <em>steal from orphans?</em></span><br />
<br />
<span>Honestly, it makes me sad. Not one single person said to me "That was a really great thing you did Kate! I would have done the same!". People are always wondering what's wrong with the world today. What's wrong is everyone is an asshole!! Everyone thinks about all the stuff they want and no one ever thinks about all the stuff they already have or all the stuff someone else <em>doesn't</em> have. I could have kept that money and bought something but I would have lost all that shit by now, and maybe the person who lost that money would have lost their house and would be bouncing between shelters now, so neither of us would be left with anything. Instead, I turned it in and those people got their money back and they slipped me $40 (which given the amount of money in the envelope was a pretty cheap ass reward, but hey it was $40 I didn't have before).</span><br />
<br />
<span>I dunno. I just remember being in school and constantly being lectured to treat people the way I want to be treated and everyone would be happy. Does that stop applying once you're old enough to make your own money or something? Meh. Sorry this is a sort of depressing blog today. Here's a strangely-related (not at all really) funny picture to leave on a good note.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpunhiy2Vb1qctkcl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" naa="true" src="http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lpunhiy2Vb1qctkcl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">It seems I have no choice but to sell you my baby for $3000. You promise she's going to a good home right?</span></em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-2198091754792603537?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-21951235539297001422011-08-14T16:18:00.002-04:002011-08-15T00:54:12.412-04:002011-08-15T00:54:12.412-04:00Delusions of grandeurI may or may not be about to reveal exactly how insane I am.<br />
<br />
Does anyone else picture themselves in life or death situations and out of nowhere all of a sudden you're a super human body builder who defies the law of gravity AND has a snappy one liner to boot? Today, I'm at work, driving my forklift around (WHY they let me operate a 5 ton vehicle inside a building I'll never know), thinking about how I might perform under extremely dangerous circumstances, when BAM I crash my forklift. A 30 foot stack of pallets - OBLITERATED. So as it's falling I'm like "OH SHIT!" and drive away as fast as I can to avoid certain doom but my wheel was turned all the way to the side, so I FLIP MY FORKLIFT. As it's falling I looked back and saw a co-worker was in my path, so somehow I managed to reach out and basically throw him out of the way, get my arms back into the forklift standing area and contort my body so that none of my limbs would be crushed. I climbed out really quick because I was convinced this thing was about to blow <a href="http://www.pmags.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/explosion.jpg">Michael Bay</a> style (even though it's not even a gas powered machine), and assumed the fetal position for a second while all this shit was falling all around me. Finally everything is leveled and the crashing sounds stop and I raise my head a little to hear a tiny newborn scream. Why is there a newborn at Costco at 4am? It doesn't matter why, but I need to find it in case something fell on it! I SEE IT! It's pinned under a 500 pound pallet of Orange Crush soda, but still very much alive thanks to a lot of now-crushed boxes of juice... but they're about to give all the way. SHIT! So I squat down and Hulk out that ENTIRE PALLET OF SODA, throwing it 10 feet away at a wall. I pick the baby up and it's unscathed, just very obviously shaken from all the crashing. I cuddle it a minute and calm it down, then say "They<em> orange</em> going to <em>crush</em> you this time." Aaaaand scene.<br />
<br />
So obviously the real reason an unattended newborn is at Costco at 4am is because I'm delusional, and this was one of my more grandiose daydreams. Oh, and I'm also aware that my one-liner wasn't very snappy at all, but I couldn't think of anything better. In my mind though, it's similar to that feeling you get when Arnold's like "Hasta la vista, BABY" and you're like "OH SNAP!". BUT ANYWAY, usually these little daydreams I have are a lot more realisitic, like Leela starts choking on something and I manage to Heimlich it out of her even though I wouldn't actually have the first clue of how to do that, or I fight off a rabid dog that has attacked me, or I might swerve to avoid a seagull and drive the van off the bridge but manage to unbuckle and swim Joe and the girls to safety before we drown, or the Earth suddenly opens beneath me and I catch myself by my fingertips and climb out even though I know for a fact that I could not even do a pull up if my life depended on it (because that's totally realistic). But what I'm trying to get at in a very long-winded way is that I always wonder if I would be able to save myself and my family if we ever were in some real danger, or if I would just be useless. You hear stories of mothers lifting cars off their children in an adrenaline rush - I wonder if an adrenaline rush could help me in <em>any</em> dire situation like I like to imagine. <br />
<br />
Sooo, am I crazy? Probably. Could I whip out some super hero powers and save myself in a life or death situation? Probably not. But am I going to start training for Ninja Warrior so that I have the strength, speed and agility, just in case? Now that I think about it, HELL YES!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://tvbacon.files.wordpress.com/2008/11/sasuke2008_1ststage-5-half-pipeatta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" naa="true" src="http://tvbacon.files.wordpress.com/2008/11/sasuke2008_1ststage-5-half-pipeatta.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">You never know when you'll have to scale the Warped Wall to save your child's life from a forest fire.</span></em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-2195123553929700142?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-5480899043109357622011-08-11T00:42:00.001-04:002011-08-11T00:44:51.154-04:002011-08-11T00:44:51.154-04:00When did I become this?The other day at work, a friend told me I hadn't changed since having babies. I assume he meant because I still cuss like a fucking sailor and I enjoy going to see a tit or two every once in a while (both girls went to their first strip clubs while in utero, hooray!).<br />
<br />
But today, I was practically crapping myself with excitement ALL. DAY. over crescent rolls. Did you know you can STUFF THEM? With ANYTHING YOU WANT? We had strawberries and cream cheese, peanut butter and chocolate, turkey and american cheese, and chicken POT PIE. ARE THE CAPS FULLY EXPRESSING HOW BOGGLED MY MIND IS? After dinner, I went outside to help Joe build the slide for Violet's swing set. Then I came inside and used different color fingernail polish to paint the alphabet on rocks for Violet to sort.<br />
<br />
I have become my biggest nightmare.<br />
<br />
When I was a teenager and my sister started having babies and she cooked stir fry for our family once and my mom was so proud and then I started noticing other old people I knew knocking up their wives and talking about the injustices of children's soccer games and discussing the best crock pot chicken they've ever had, I decided I couldn't be that. I wasn't completely opposed to kids someday in my 30s maybe, but I never wanted to become lame. I wanted to be designing Frank Lloyd Wright-esque buildings and bringing home killer checks and shaving my head and tattoing on my hair and going on trips to Budapest and scoffing at the conformist music on the radio and heading seminars on kicking ass and taking names.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://executiveresourceshpc.homestead.com/Woman_leading_seminar_iStock_000005083734XSmall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" naa="true" src="http://executiveresourceshpc.homestead.com/Woman_leading_seminar_iStock_000005083734XSmall.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Bitch I KNOW you didn't just say the Zombie Apocalypse can't actually happen.</span></em></div><br />
Instead I'm getting excited about pastries in a can and know the words to The Berenstain Bears Too Much TV by heart and I know and use the term "SAHM" on a regular basis and my days off involve wiping 4 different people's pee and <a href="http://pinterest.com/sk8withk8/">pinning</a> kid crafts (that I'll never actually do) all day. I like to think I can still tell a decent joke... as long as we're joking about pregnancy pains or potty training woes. Today I perfectly timed dinner to be ready the minute my husband walked in the door from work and I'm still gloating about it 6 hours later. I HAVE BECOME MY BIGGEST NIGHTMARE. If anyone was to call me out on it, I would deny it and declare myself "domesticated". MAYBE there's a difference, because I'm still holding out hope that when the girls are in school and I no longer have to <strike>pay attention to</strike> constantly supervise and engage them, then maybe the rock star in me that shows glimpses of herself will re-emerge for good. For now though, I'm going to own it. I guess.<br />
<br />
I'm lame.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U-SOtqi-OE4/TkNWYDPZNGI/AAAAAAAAAFw/zYABJm8rFyw/s1600/P1030706.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" naa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U-SOtqi-OE4/TkNWYDPZNGI/AAAAAAAAAFw/zYABJm8rFyw/s320/P1030706.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-548089904310935762?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-49577343512773656432011-08-09T00:19:00.001-04:002011-08-09T15:53:10.585-04:002011-08-09T15:53:10.585-04:00Things I Can't Believe I Never KnewI haven't posted in a while. The most interesting thing to happen to me the past week was losing my shoes and calling out of work as a result. Actually that whole thing had me really pissed off because my boss said to me "Kate. I literally have 70 pairs of shoes. You have ONE?" and I was all "Yeah lady, I'm poor, that's how I roll, blow me," and then I barefoot roundhoused her ass <em>through</em> the phone because I'm a <em>teleninja</em>. The other part of the whole thing that pissed me off is that literally two days before, I had a whole shit ton of shoes that I had been saving "just in case" and I had finally decided "just in case" wasn't coming. So then it came. So I'm officially never throwing anything away ever again.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so somehow this next story is related but you wouldn't believe if you stopped after this paragraph. I was just talking at Joe about how I hadn't blogged in a while because I couldn't think of anything to say, and he wasn't paying attention of course and he's like "The guys at work were making fun of me the other day because I didn't know turkeys could fly." Wait. What? TURKEYS FLY?<br />
<br />
Which brings me to this. Things I feel really dumb for never having known before. Some with video proof in case your dumbass didn't know either.<br />
<br />
1. <a href="http://youtu.be/mHBmHnIhOME"><strong>Turkeys fly</strong></a><strong>. </strong>This just surprises me because those things are BIG. I figured they could do the ol' jump-and-fly-10-feet, but no, they actually FLY.<br />
<br />
2. <a href="http://www.chathamjournal.com/weekly/living/consumer/women-own-many-shoes-71112.shtml"><strong>The average American woman owns 19 pairs of shoes.</strong></a><strong> </strong>This search was prompted by my asshole boss. Not that I don't support a woman's right to own however the hell many shoes she wants, but I don't think I've owned 19 pairs of shoes in my whole life, muchless that many at once. What do you do with that many shoes???<br />
<br />
3. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BeuwoD_Y-hg"><strong>You can make salisbury steak</strong>.</a> I'm not sure what I thought salisbury steak was, but I always figured it was some kind of pre-chewed naturally occuring thing. Like scrapple and hot dogs. Uh, yeah. But apparently it's beef and pork and god knows what else combined.<br />
<br />
4. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fDYK2H0ldbo"><strong>Casey Kasem is still alive.</strong></a> Every single time I hear this guy on the radio I think "Holy crap, he's still alive?!" I swear he died like 15 years ago. Isn't he 110 now or something?<br />
<br />
<br />
Honestly I can't even think of any of the really good examples of dumb stuff I didn't know, but I feel like almost every day I learn some sort of common knowledge and I'm like "wait, what?" and people look at me like I'm the stupidest person to ever breathe (like when I discovered <a href="http://eunuchhorn.blogspot.com/2011/07/teenage-mutant-ninja-honkies.html">white people are mutated black people</a>). It's probably true sometimes. Oh, another thing is I didn't know human boobs make milk and that babies eat from them until I was like 15. WTF?<br />
<br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-4957734351277365643?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-56907240375022464922011-08-07T11:31:00.000-04:002011-08-07T11:31:56.845-04:002011-08-07T11:31:56.845-04:00To conclude World Breastfeeding Week, here is a picture of my boob.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iFJZiOHOYaA/Tj6u3owBfJI/AAAAAAAAAFs/8hrtFyqzKis/s1600/boob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-iFJZiOHOYaA/Tj6u3owBfJI/AAAAAAAAAFs/8hrtFyqzKis/s320/boob.jpg" t$="true" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Get it? Because he's a boob? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Don't judge me because I think stupid things are funny.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-5690724037502246492?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-82330082933906260362011-08-03T21:47:00.001-04:002011-08-03T21:49:21.642-04:002011-08-03T21:49:21.642-04:00Roll Model: My weight loss segment.Ok, HOW MANY TIMES have I made the <em>same</em> joke that "Roll Model" would make a great name for Tyra's next model competition show featuring plus-sized ladies? That was the last time, I swear. From now on though, every time I update my Roll Model segment, you will think about me telling that joke over and over. And then you'll probably hate me and not read my blog anymore. Maybe I shouldn't have made it this one last time.<br />
<br />
Anyway. I've lost at least 57 pounds in 6 months. I'm going to pretend that 30 of that wasn't pregnancy weight because it makes it sound a lot more impressive. Since it seems like I might actually be on my way to being some variation of "skinny" <span style="font-size: xx-small;">(a long time from now)</span> for the first time in my life, it's had me thinking about how often I say "That's one of the many advantages of being a fatty". Clogged arteries and tent-sized shirts aside, there are some things I will miss!<br />
<br />
1. <strong>Having something to fall back on.</strong> When I'm feeling awkward in a situation, I throw a fat joke about myself out there. Suddenly everyone else feels WAY more awkward and I'm the coolest person in the room. Also, I <em>literally</em> have a big fat something to fall back on.<br />
<br />
2. <strong>Warmth. </strong>My thighs are the size of two baby bears and are the softest, warmest, cuddliest mittens in the winter time.<br />
<br />
3. <strong>Fat flap pencil case.</strong> See picture.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SIbftn0iL6c/Tjn32XfvC7I/AAAAAAAAAFk/j5C4UsbC-g4/s1600/pencils.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SIbftn0iL6c/Tjn32XfvC7I/AAAAAAAAAFk/j5C4UsbC-g4/s320/pencils.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Hey stud, let me write down my number with this pencil I just found under my babs**.</span></em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>4. <strong>Super strength. </strong>I lift 200 pounds everytime I <em>stand</em>, that 55 pound box of sugar is nothing (yes, such a thing exists. I would know).<br />
<br />
5. <strong>Live longer.</strong> I wouldn't list this if we weren't apparently on the verge of another great depression. Months from now when a loaf of bread costs $85 and all you skinnies are like "omg I'm so hungry *keel over*," I'll still have 7 months of fat reserves AND some <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hufu">people</a> to grill up.<br />
<br />
6. <strong>Chairs fear me. </strong>And it is always a good thing to be feared.<br />
<br />
Clearly being fat is the way to go. So then why do I still want to lose weight?<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center">Because I love chairs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://a2.l3-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/33/ba517c4091e4c486b9026904c595c9f4/l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://a2.l3-images.myspacecdn.com/images01/33/ba517c4091e4c486b9026904c595c9f4/l.jpg" t$="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">CILF.</span></em></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="left"><span style="font-size: x-small;">**Babs - back abs.</span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-8233008293390626036?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-30531069328149786962011-08-02T14:42:00.002-04:002011-08-02T15:15:08.342-04:002011-08-02T15:15:08.342-04:00I'm officially a professional blogger.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GWBaZsHC5Ko/TjhDniKN_EI/AAAAAAAAAFU/m-vlnnJ-Ea0/s1600/problogger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="118" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GWBaZsHC5Ko/TjhDniKN_EI/AAAAAAAAAFU/m-vlnnJ-Ea0/s320/problogger.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I got the money in the bank, so shorty what you drank? Bartender, I'll take half an eyedropper full of that.</span></em></div><br />
This probably goes against some kind of rule I was supposed to read but didn't, but thanks to whoever accidentally clicked an ad!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-3053106932814978696?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-5060192398461044552011-08-02T00:28:00.002-04:002011-08-02T15:12:53.747-04:002011-08-02T15:12:53.747-04:006 Unconventional Reasons to BreastfeedIt's better for the baby, will lower mom's chances of breast cancer, will help mom lose weight quicker, cheaper than formula, better for bonding... BIG WHOOP. Here are the real reasons to breastfeed.<br />
<br />
1. <strong>Excuses.</strong> The older sibling needs a poop diaper changed?... shucks, I have to go feed the baby. My mother in law just showed up unexpectedly?... I'll be in the back room feeding the baby. The house is a mess and needs to be cleaned immediately?... Well I would, but I need to go sit on my ass for 20 minutes to feed the baby.<br />
<br />
2. <strong>Big boobs.</strong> I mean, it's cool to have some killer cleavage for a year of breastfeeding, but for me it's even funnier to look down and realize that your boob is bigger than the head that's sucking on it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://img410.imageshack.us/img410/2190/hugeboobs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://img410.imageshack.us/img410/2190/hugeboobs.jpg" t$="true" width="286" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>Of course that's nothing new for this lady.</em></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="left">3. <strong>You finally have something to shoot at your husband.</strong> Not that your husband is just squirting HIS "stuff" all over you whenever he walks past or anything (unless you guys are into that sort of thing), but it's inevitable that you have to handle it at some point whether you're trying to make babies or prevent them. And I'm sure I'm not alone in that it's not my favorite stuff in the world. So if you find yourself 1 week post-partum and you're exhausted from having this baby connected to you literally 12 hours a day and your nipples look like fresh ground beef and your husband is sitting there admiring this beautiful baby but seemingly oblivious to the fact that between his snores vibrating the bed last night and the baby's neverending cycle of crying, eating and pooping punctuated by 2 minutes of sleep, if he then says "So what's for dinner tonight hon?", rest assured you will not be judged by me if you pop him with a stream in his eye. I will also not judge you if you do it just for the hell of it because it's hilarious. Even if you only do it once, there's something so satisfying. Take THAT, <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Pull%20Out%20And%20Pray">POP</a>.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">3.5. <a href="http://www.parenting.com/blogs/show-and-tell/lauren-parentingcom/booby-trap-drunk-woman-shoots-cops-breast-milk">You have something to shoot at cops too.</a></div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">4. <strong>BM b.m.'s smell better.</strong> I've had a formula baby and a boobie baby, and breastmilk poop is like fresh baked cookies in comparison. Or maybe that's just me.<br />
<br />
5. <strong>Parkinson's baby.</strong> I can't tell you how flattering it is when someone gets SO excited to be near your naked boob that they get the shakes. Although maybe I'd get this reaction if I was willing to expose my boob to more people, but babies don't judge so I'll stick to exposing myself to them only. (I am not a perv.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.canadianactors.info/Michael_J_pointSHOP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.canadianactors.info/Michael_J_pointSHOP.jpg" t$="true" width="236" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Michael J. Fox is always excited for boobies. Because of Parkinson's.</span></em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div align="left">6. <strong>The best reason. <em>Period</em>. </strong>This isn't a very unconventional reason at all actually, but I just want to reiterate how. friggin. awesome. it is to not have ANY period for OVER a year. Just imagine the first 9 months of growing a baby and no worrying about putting anything absorbant near your nethers, then double that and subtract the pain of actually growing a baby. It's like <a href="http://eunuchhorn.blogspot.com/2011/08/i-know-how-satan-fell-from-heaven-for.html">Heaven</a>.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-506019239846104455?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-14538169537181451772011-08-01T11:57:00.002-04:002011-08-02T15:15:47.838-04:002011-08-02T15:15:47.838-04:00I know how Satan fell from Heaven for real.For the past year and a half-two years, I've been really fascinated by this God and Jesus stuff and how and why people do and don't believe in it. My most recent obsessive thought has been about Heaven and the afterlife.<br />
<br />
And I just had an epiphone because of a hairball on the bath tub ledge.<br />
<br />
ALL Satan wanted was a little kitty cat! But because it's my understanding that all you have to do is believe in ol Jeebus to get into Heaven, and because his precious little <a href="http://www.foldedspace.org/toads/weblog/Lucifer%20smaller.jpg">LucyFur</a> (that would obviously be his cat's name) doesn't even have a soul and also can't believe in anything but cans of tuna, they had to part ways. So he was like "Screw this God guy or whatever his name is, he won't notice if I sneak Lucy in" but God DID notice because he is allergic as shit to cats (HENCE why he started Earth so all the animal lovers could visit their pets for 80 years or so, but Satan didn't want to just visit dangit, he wanted an ETERNITY of kitty meows and purrs and kneading dough on his back [oh that does sound nice]), and so God was like "<a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=gtfo">GTFO</a> SATAN" and so began the story of the Bible.<br />
<br />
So at least between lightening beam back whips in Hell I'll have a soft little Molly (my childhood furball) to rub my skinless hands over. So that's cool.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.newsinus.us/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/Sarah-McLachlan-Finally-Apologizes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.newsinus.us/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/Sarah-McLachlan-Finally-Apologizes.jpg" t$="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Hi, I'm Sarah Mclachlan. Will you save an innocent puppy from those animal hatin angels?</em></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-1453816953718145177?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-29359453040473324502011-07-29T22:41:00.002-04:002011-08-02T15:16:24.608-04:002011-08-02T15:16:24.608-04:00I just got a great idea for a porn. This is not at all awkward to read."<a href="http://www.ovguide.com/tv_episode/duck-dodgers-season-3-episode-22-bonafide-hero-captain-duck-dodgers-367147">Bonerfide Hero: Captain Dick Dodders</a>". One scene would be these doddering old dudes barely holding themselves up on their walkers, and they're centimetering their way to the register at a donut shop. There's this long huge line behind them of impatient assholes who don't respect the feeble [slow as fuck] elderly, but they're not about to get arrested for assault of a senior either, so they just stand there huffing and eye-rolling and wishing they had just gone in front of those walkers when there was more space to do so without it being OBVIOUS they were cutting in line. <br />
<br />
So anyway, there's this one guy in the very back, a young guy. It's a porn don't forget, and he's the villain, so he's wearing some painted on latex villain suit, with his junk hanging out of course, and he has a utility belt full of dildos and whips. And his name is The Whipper Snapper (get it, because he's the young guy?). Also, he can manipulate his penis to whip and snap, because it wouldn't make sense if he <em>couldn't</em> do that.<br />
<br />
The Whipper Snapper is PISSED because he wants his damn coffee and donut before he begins his day doin bad guy stuff, so he starts pushing through the line. He knocks down this lady and he BREAKS HER STRIPPER HEEL. Well, this is the equivalent of breaking her skull, it is NOT cool to break a stripper's heel in whatever fantasy land this story is taking place. Let's call it Busty Years Retirement Community I guess. So she's laying there all in distress and calling for help while The Whipper Snapper is all "Mua-ha-ha, how'd you like that hurts donut?" (thank jeebus jokes in pornos don't have to make complete sense) and keeps on storming toward the front of the line and knocking over more people.<br />
<br />
Then. Remember the rickety old doddering dudes who are holding up the line in the first place? They finally turn around to see all the commotion (because you know they didn't HEAR it) and they're all WTF. The stomp their walkers on the ground in a synchronized rhythm and it's like a scene out of Power Rangers all of a sudden, and they like form into one giant penis with walker legs and they kick the shit out of The Whipper Snapper.<br />
<br />
Then they go pick up the damsel in distress and she's like "Oh, let me make you my bonerfied heroes!" and that's when the actually explicit stuff starts. But who would still be interested in wacking it to a porno after a killer scene like the one I just described?! Not me. The end.<br />
<br />
Oh, and a minor detail, but I'm pretty sure that 30 years old in adult movies is the equivalent of 80 in real life, so there wouldn't ACTUALLY be old wrinkly balls in this porn, so don't worry about that. Hmm, unless I decide to take it in the fetish direction. Decisions decisions.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I want to apologize for not doing more. I could have done magic with the fight scene, but I'm too tired</span>. And turned on.</span></em><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-2935945304047332450?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-33039495542212668562011-07-29T08:31:00.001-04:002011-08-02T15:16:56.781-04:002011-08-02T15:16:56.781-04:00I want to write a children's book.It will be about hygiene issues and the main character will be named Bernie Hole, and his friend Mitch N. Mianus will be curiously cropped from the waist up in all his pages and only ever show one hand.<br />
<br />
Seriously though, I want to write a children's book specifically so that I can illustrate it. Actually, would someone else mind just writing one for me? And giving me all the credit? I have no problem doing that, I am white afterall. <br />
<br />
A dude at work told me that since he only ever sees me on a forklift, he imagines I just drive it around everywhere and go about my daily life with this forklift connected to me. Like I'm cooking breakfast and flipping pancakes with my forks, and wiping my butt with toilet paper on the end of my forks, and I beep as I'm backing down the front yard to put out the trash. And I plug in my battery at night then me and the forklift cuddle up to Joe in bed. Ha. We decided it would be a fun kid's book, about Forklift Fiona. Maybe it would, but I don't necessarily want to write or illustrate that book. I think girls doing "boy stuff" would be a good focus though, because people eat that GIRL POWER shit right up. Honestly, I don't care what it's about, I just need an excuse to use these markers I paid $200 for (I am not even fucking kidding. This was in my child-free days of course though).<br />
<br />
Oh, are shit, asshole and douchenozzle children's-book-appropriate words? Someone should definitely write this for me, I don't think I'm cut out for this business.<br />
<br />
<br />
PS It's funny when the summary on the back of a kid's book is longer than the book itself.<br />
<br />
PPS Ok nevermind, I'm gonna write this damn book myself. I just need someone to give me a subject because that's the part I suck at. GO!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-3303949554221266856?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-93560898824934456.post-82064949120959327652011-07-27T23:48:00.003-04:002011-08-02T15:30:12.924-04:002011-08-02T15:30:12.924-04:00Dreamquote ChroniclesI've been stuck in the house mostly for the past 5 days or so because of a lovely stomach bug going around the house. I'd love to go on about all the different consistencies and smells of poop I encountered this weekend, but no one else wants to hear about it (right?) so I'll spare you (unless you want to know!). So since I haven't been experiencing real life, I don't really have anything to talk about, but I also don't feel like sleeping yet.<br />
<br />
So here's Joe's Dreamquotes of the night so far:<br />
<br />
<em>"It's a spider... GET OUT FAGGOT"</em> as he's flicking a lint ball on his pillow<br />
<br />
<em>"</em><em>No that's a waffle. WET! DOG!"</em><br />
<br />
Well I was already aware that Joe hates spiders. But he's a total fag hag so I'm kind of surprised he'd be using the word "faggot" in a negative way. Or maybe there was a guy there named Faggot who is allergic to spiders and Joe was trying to save his life! Actually, can you believe that people aren't naming their kid that yet? With all the awful names out there?? Five dollars says some MTV Teen Mom is going to name her kid Fayget within the next 2 seasons.<br />
<br />
As far as the waffle and the wet dog, I can't even imagine what's going on there. I wonder what someone has mistaken for a waffle. Hmmm, let's see, waffle-like things... the bottom of a shoe, legos, a beehive, my bare ass sitting on a lattice lawn chair... pancakes are round breakfast food, so waffle-life I guess. I dunno, I'm completely stumped on this one. I guess he was just worried about a wet dog shaking off and soggying up his waffle that looks like something besides a waffle. Which I can't blame him for, but it seems like such a specific and odd thing to dream about. <br />
<br />
The sad part is I'll never know because Joe rarely remembers his dreams when I tell him about them the next morning. Which seems so weird to me because I remember most of my dreams really clearly. Last night I hulked out on some kitchen cabinets and lifted them OFF THE WALL because somehow my friend dropped her baby underneath them and couldn't reach her, and there was another about babysitting a tiny Fred Savage in my apartment with the cast of How I Met Your Mother. Hmm, I guess I shouldn't be judging Joe's dreams as specific and odd.<br />
<br />
Well, I've officially bored myself. Time to give in to my droopy eyes I suppose.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/93560898824934456-8206494912095932765?l=eunuchhorn.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>k8http://www.blogger.com/profile/04364894536398719458noreply@blogger.com0