I’ve been working hard this week, you guys. Yesterday I gave myself a pedicure, washed and hung out two loads of laundry, and folded three loads, emptied and re-loaded the dishwasher, picked up toys, packed lunches, made dinner, washed my kitchen floor, emptied trash cans, watered all my outside plants, and then brought the girls to work with me at noon so I could get an early start before Mister came to pick them up so I could work until 8.

I’m fucking tired. In fact, my tired has tired on it.

So while I was at work, the girls were fine and they were pretty quiet and everything except for the time when Girlfriend said “douchebag” and my friend Celina and I both gasped at the same time and it embarrassed her and she dove under my desk and cried very loudly.

I had to beg her to come out. She’s usually the language police, but not this time.

Girlfriend, not Celina.

But that wasn’t the weird thing that happened.

The weird thing happened when Homeslice pooped her diaper and I realized that I didn’t have a spare with me, so I grabbed a diaper wipe and decided to reach into the back and pull the poop out because the kid freaking stank. Stunk? Stinked? She smelled.

And so I waited until nobody was around and I made my move. I dug into the back of her diaper and I pulled out the poop, wiping her bum as I went and just as I was pulling my hand out of the diaper, who walks though but the director on her way out to lunch.

She’s pretty cool about allowing us to bring our kids in every so often, for a short time as long as they’re quiet and don’t make a mess,and there I was standing there in a field of puzzle pieces and mashed cheerios with a hand full of diaper shit while she cooed at Homeslice and talked to Girlfriend all about her birthday.

It felt like forever, you guys. I don’t think she noticed that I had a hand full of shit, but what if she had?

I don’t really have an ending to this story.

*this post is like, 15 posts in one, so if you want to read it in pieces that would be perfectly fine*

So we did it Queefies.

The great big gigantic patio/deck project is all done.  Mister is pretty much a super hero and as usual, he built the whole thing with his dick. He’s got a few small abrasions on it, but that’s just because patio bricks are kind of rough. I mean seriously, he’s not THAT strong. Let’s not be nuts here.

I helped, of course.  I hauled wheelbarrows full of gravel and sand and brick.  I’m so proud of myself though you guys because I must have moved a ton or more of gravel and about a ton of brick and like, an assload (that’s a standard measurement, right?  Assload?) of sand and I didn’t get tired and I’m not sore and I didn’t even cry.  I thank my girl Jillian for all of that ass kicking. Also, it’s because I’m fucking awesome.

And then after that whole project was done, I planted a mimosa, an oak, a dogwood, and two hydrangeas.  And then the Richard and Micheles came over and I got totally absolutely undeniably hammered from just two glasses of wine, but that didn’t stop me from having more wine and then after that some tequila and then I felt horrible mommy guilt for putting Homeslice to bed in a dirty dress with sand in her diaper, but it turned out okay because she woke up and I got her into some proper pjs and wiped her down with a washcloth.  So I didn’t have to wake up at 3am and beat myself up over it. Instead, I woke up at 3 am and felt guilty for worrying about it so much and for burdening everyone with my mommy neurosis.

I fucking rule.

Anyhoodles, that was our weekend.  We worked like dogs.

OMG!!! I didn’t tell you guys!
The dog officer came and took Maudette’s puppy away!

The dog officer came and took Maudette’s puppy away!

I was standing there washing dishes and watching the little fuckface dig holes in my new mulch, when the van pulled up. And I was all “take the dog! take the dog!” and the dog officer got out and lured him over to her. She saw me in the window and asked who he belonged to, and when I motioned in Earl and Maudette’s direction, she nodded and said “this little guy is coming with me” and it was just like one of those moments when Mr. Wilson catches Dennis doing something naughty and he’s thrilled to pieces. And then I was all “TEQUILA ATTACKED ALICE!” and then I ran into the house because I didn’t want to get caught talking to the dog officer because remember I’m scared of Earl and Maudette and Tequila and the puppy.

They got him back, and I nearly ran over the puppy who was running around in the middle of the street on my way home from work last night, so clearly they’re not afeared of the dog officer and/or are slow learners and/or they don’t give a shit.

She wears too much mascara, the dog officer does.

So the yard is ready for the Birthday Extravaganza on Saturday.  It’s already way out of  hand.  There’s a lot of people coming.  Like, a lot.  So you can probably come too.  I won’t notice because there will be so fucking many people.

Here’s a picture of me getting bombalooed on my new patio:


And today is Girlfriend’s birthday!!!!

She’s 5! 


I took Girlfriend and Homeslice shopping for some birthday party supplies yesterday. Girlfriend decided on a horse theme, so we bought horse cups and plates and napkins, etc. That shit gets more expensive every year. And then I bent over for a nice eleven millionty dollar ass raping on the party favors–little bandannas to tie together and use as favor bags for a bean bag horse, a decorate the horse with stickers thingy, and a horse finger puppet, and then we went to Target to buy dog food, cat food, panty liners, and a squirt bottle.

We get in the slightly creepy cashier’s line (I go so often I’m practically dating the slightly creepy cashier) and Girlfriend likes to put the stuff on the conveyor belt, so she does and when she gets to the panty liners, she’s goes “mama, what’s these for?” And I didn’t know what to say and the slightly creepy cashier blushed a little bit and then she goes “OH! I KNOW! IT’S FOR WHEN YOU POOP YOUR PANTS SO YOU WON’T GET POOP ON YOUR PANTIES!”

Oh dear God.

Dear, dear, dear God.

Behind us in line were a bunch of massage school students in their scrubs picking up sodas between classes. They heard that one loud and clear.

I have to find a new Target because everyone there now thinks I shit myself.

This is what I get for plotting to put Vagisil in random people’s carriages. That damn karma again! GAH!

Thank goodness it’s a Toy with Me day today because this mommy blogger’s kids are preventing her from mommy blogging today.

Fucking selfish children, I tell you.

At this very moment, Homeslice is bucking and screaming in her high chair and actually moving it across the room, and Girlfriend is whining because her waffles aren’t warm enough. She likes them warm, but not too warm, you know.

So yes.

I have to go stop the screaming and the bucking and the whining.

Where did I put that bottle of Xanax?

Now go read about The Vagina Gentrification Project