Dickheads. I’m being forced to use the stinkin’est user interface ever that goes “live” and into the feral zone today, Jan. 5, 2009. Gag, gag, gag. Buggy as hell, overrun with spammers, forum whores and clones of spitting cobras.
No matter though, as I’ve found a new, bright and shiny place to interact with those of us who’ve “had it up to here“.
I’ll be spending my time here from this day forward.
Happiest of holidays from the Scurvy Wench!
I’m not sure what in hell this is supposed to depict, but coffee, spew, monitor.
I seem to be MIA, and sorry for that. Life has happened again. I’ll be back soon. Until then, happy holidays to all, and thanks for all the fish. ;-)
Dear Santa,
I’ve been a good mom all year. I’ve fed, cleaned, and cuddled my
two children on demand, visited their doctor’s office more than my
doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant
a shade tree on the school playground, and figured out how to
attach nine patches onto my daughter’s girl scout sash with
staples and a glue gun.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases,
since I had to write this letter with my son’s red crayon, on the
back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who
knows when I’ll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes: I’d like a pair of legs that don’t
ache after a day of chasing kids (in any color, except purple,
which I already have) and arms that don’t flap in the breeze, but
are strong enough to carry a screaming toddler out of the candy
aisle in the grocery store. I’d also like a waist, since I lost
mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
If you’re hauling big ticket items this year I’d like a car with
fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult
music; a television that doesn’t broadcast any programs containing
talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment
behind the crisper where I can hide when I want to talk on the
phone.
On the practical side, I could use a talking daughter doll that
says, “Yes, Mommy” to boost my parental confidence, along with
one
potty-trained toddler, two kids who don’t fight, and three pairs of
jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.
I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting, “Don’t eat
in the living room”, “Take your shoes off the couch,” and
‘Take
your hands off your brother/sister,” because my voice seems to be
just out of my children’s hearing range and can only be heard by
the dog.
And please don’t forget the Playdoh Travel Pack, the stocking
stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers. It comes in three
fluorescent colors and is guaranteed to crumble on any carpet
making the In-laws’ house seem just like mine.
If it’s too late to find any of these products, I’d settle for
enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same
morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature
without it being served in a Styrofoam container.
If you don’t mind I could also use a few Christmas miracles to
brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to
declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience
immensely. It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to
help around the house without demanding payment as if they were
the bosses of an organized crime family; or if my toddler didn’t
look so cute sneaking downstairs to eat contraband ice cream in
his pajamas at midnight.
Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my
feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back.
Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the
chimney and come in and dry off by the fire so you don’t catch
cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table, but don’t eat too
many or leave crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always,
Mom
PS One more thing…you can cancel all my requests if you can keep
my children young enough to believe in you.
Introducing: Punkin Sprockette
She is our new baby girl! She is 6 months old and sweet as can be!
My day off and payday to boot, I got a new haircut and colored my hair today which resulted in a flashback of when I first met my husband-to-be thirty one years ago, when I had one of these in my bedroom.
In fact, I’m sure it was at the top of his reasons for asking for all of me my hand in marriage.
In years past, we’ve always had the traditional Thanksgiving. You know, like giving the turkey a bath in the tub to facilitate the thawing therewith. Since moving to the Armpit of Tennessee, in da ghetto, this year we’ll be celebrating a little differently.
Happy Thanksgiving!
The man I’d most likely invite to my bedroom in another life really, really wants one of these.
It’s a gas-powered party blender perfect for any gear-head.
Let’s help him with his adult beverage addiction, by buying him one for Christmas.
Now that he’s consorting with Limeys, he’ll be needing all the imbibing inspiration he can get.
When we have reached the goal to make all his dreams come true, we’ll ship it to him in a plain brown wrapper marked “Caution Live Kangaroos”.
