ahem

originally posted April 19, 2008


Um, hi.

This is so awkward. It's been so long. I feel like such a heel. Here I thought I was all devoted to this notion of writing shite down so that I could later remember it and stuff, but when the going got queasy, the queasy got all Fuck this, I'm taking a nap. And then, when the going got big and round, the big and round got all Jesus, if I have the energy and time to write this down, then I have the energy and time to unfold this blankie and take a nap. And then, when the going got particularly cranky, the particularly cranky got particularly crankier, and then took a nap. And then, after all that napping and cranking, a small person up and came out of – are you sitting down? And not eating? – my VAGINA. Yes! Shot right out of it! And then a month went by, and here we are. Here we are, and I never even took the time to complete the time line I was jabbering about the last time I woke up and shut my bitchy pie hole long enough to write something down. God damn me! I didn't even take the time to document the process I went through as I made the ever important decision as to whether I should eat the placenta! Gaaaaaaahhhh!

So, what's up with you? How is your vagina*? My vagina is fine. Thank you for asking.

I'm not really sure where to begin. So much has happened. My children discovered The Dick Van Dyke Show, which the junior Brain Scientist refers to as 'Vixen Dyke'. I wanna watch Vixen Dyke! Can you blame him? Who doesn't love to watch a little Vixen Dyke? The older girl child attempted to straighten him out on this point, explaining It's not Vixen Dyke. It's Dick Van Dyke. And you shouldn't say 'dick' by itself. She really is a good big sister, isn't she? And she knows what a dick is, it seems. My, she is growing up.

What else has happened? Let's see. Ah, yes. The junior Brain Scientist does not like me anymore. He tells me several times a day: Mama, I don't like you. I suspect it has something to do with the person who came out of – did I mention this? – my VAGINA.

Jesus. I've had approximately one thimble full of beer and I can't think of a damn thing. Why am I even bothering with this?

My apologies.

Perhaps I can try again later.


P.S. – SPOILER ALERT: I didn't eat the placenta.

* Or other favorite orifice.