Laugh, Mom

I'm about to talk, in graphic terms, about my period. So you might want to stop reading right now. Unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case, read on (and also, eww).

So, the last two months of my life have been fucked up. I don't mean "my car broke down and I got a bad haircut" fucked up. I don't even mean, "I found out my uncle Kevin is a transvestite hooker," fucked up. I mean FUCKED UP. Alien-abduction-with-anal-probes fucked up. Beyond-Dr.-Phil-and-probably-too-fucked-up-for-Jerry-Springer fucked up. F-U-C-K-E-D-U-P. I have been through some crummy shit in my life (haven't we all?), and am a super tough cookie as a result, but the last two months have nearly broken me. It's been that fucked up.

I'm down 20 lbs. from living in a near-constant state of adrenaline (yeah! skinny jeans), my vintage business and blogs are in the crapper because I can't focus on any one thing (other than how fucked up my life is....I can focus on every aspect of that ad nauseum) for more than 30 seconds in a row, and I suspect The Baby has set up a meth lab in the basement, taking advantage of my distracted state to pad his college fund with ill gotten gains (and really, thank God one of them realizes they can't ride this gravy train forever).

To summarize, my life is fucked up and my kid is cooking up Nyquil to sell to all the baby crackheads at playgroup.

Which brings me to the dirty slut that is my uterus. Because my body is super-sensitive to hormone fluctuations, I don't have my period AT ALL while I'm breastfeeding. Between 18 months of nursing and a 9 month pregnancy, the crimson tide hadn't made an appearance in over two years. Until my life hit the skids. Then, suddenly I find myself doubled over with cramps and bleeding like an East-Coast-Thug-in-the-middle-of-a-bi-coastal-rap-rivalry (sorry, Notorious was on HBO last night) from my girly parts.

As if moodiness, cramps, and raging adult acne weren't bad enough, the real insult came about 14 days later when I FUCKING OVULATED. I mean, getting my period sucked, but I totally forgot the basic rules of biology which dictate that a menstruating woman at the peak of her child bearing years is fucking FERTILE. Are you kidding me, uterus? I mean, seriously? You really think, at this point in my life, it would be a great time to GROW A PERSON? Sonofabitch.

In practical terms, it's not really an issue so much as an annoyance, as D. had a vasectomy (*ahem* D. jerk off in a cup and take it to your ball doctor's office to confirm the vasectomy actually worked because apparently I'm fertile again and I totally don't want to have *another* accidental pregnancy because I can't handle any more kids and as a 32 year old married woman I don't want to have to get a schmushmorshion *ahem*). However, based on our conception history, I think it's possible for me to get pregnant just by being in the same room as D. In Trekkie terms, my uterus is a Klingon Destroyer, and sperm are the Starship Enterprise caught in a biological tractor beam. (Heh. Klingons. Uranus. Heh.) Wait, what was my point again?

Oh yeah. My life is fucked up. My uterus is a filthy whore. And D. needs to deliver a cup of spunk to the ball doctor. Get jerkin'.

Me: That is it! The next person in this house who insults someone else is banned from electronics for a week!
D: Here, Peanut. Put away the milk.
Peanut, whining: I can't!
D: You can too.
Peanut, still whining: It's too heavy.
D: If that's too heavy then you need to get down in the basement and lift some weights. Wimp.
Me: No electronics for a week!
D: What? That doesn't apply to me. You said the kids.
Me: No, I said the next person to insult someone. That includes you.
Moon: She did. She said person.
D: Come on. I said, "pimp." That's a good thing. The kid's a pimp.
Peanut: What's a pimp?
Me, hanging my head and muttering: oh. my. god.
Peanut: Hey Moon, you're a pimp.
Moon: No, you're a pimp.
Peanut, laughing: Pimp.
Moon, laughing: Pimp.
Me, still muttering: oh. my. god. What am I going to tell the school when they call?

Moon: Blogging is easy. I could probably start a blog if I wanted to.
Me: Oh? What would your blog be about?
Peanut: My wiener. YEAAAAH!
Me: A blog about your wiener? Huh.
Moon: Day one...wiener lookin' good.

Here's your chance to get away from your jerk-face kids (why doesn't anyone ever give me the chance to get away from my jerk-face kids? These Austria people won't let me win just because I'm working on the campaign.):

You could win a free trip for two to Austria. The contest is called the "It's Got To Be Austria Facebook Sweepstakes," and in order to enter, one need only become a fan of "Austria. Official Travel Info" on Facebook. The winner and a guest will receive a seven day themed vacation package of their choice valued at $4,500. The sweepstakes invites fans to explore all that Austria has to offer by choosing from vacations oriented toward "Food and Wine," "Art, Architecture and Design," "Nature, Outdoors and the Alps," or "Classical Music and History." Facebook fans can receive an additional sweepstakes entry by Tweeting about Austria using the hashtag, #itsgottobeaustria. The contest runs now through January 15.

More information and official rules can be found at http://www.itsgottobeaustria.com, or by becoming a fan on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/austriatravelinfo.

Contest is open to residents of the U.S., 18 and over.

Go! Enter! Send me a postcard to stare at while I cry in my vodka.

Me: I need to get a job.
Peanut: You already have a job.
Me: I have several "jobs," but they all suck and none of them pay very well.
Peanut: You get enough money to pay for our house.
Me: Um, no. I definitely don't make enough money to pay for our house. Dad's work pays for our house.
Peanut: Dad doesn't work. He just sits on the couch all day and doesn't do anything.

Ever brush your teeth in the shower? I do. Sometimes. Multi-tasking. That's what I did last night, and then I left my toothbrush on the window ledge in the shower, which is at least two and a half foot off the ground and out of the baby's reach. This morning, when I needed to brush my teeth:

Peanut: Oh, Mom! You know that toothbrush that's in the shower?
Me: Yes?
Peanut: Well, Erek was using the toilet and I had to pee, so I had to pee in the shower and I accidentally peed on that toothbrush.
Me: WHAT?!
Peanut: I had to go. It was an accident.
Me: You accidentally peed up that high?
Peanut, smiling: Yes. It was an accident.
Me: You accidentally peed on my toothbrush which is all the way up there on the window ledge?
Peanut: Oh. Well, you can just wash it.
Me: I'm not brushing my teeth with something you peed on.
Peanut: It was an accident.

On the bright side, at least he told me about it before I brushed.

Me: You know you're in trouble, right?
Moon: Ye-e-es.
Me: You know why you're in trouble, right?
Moon: Ye-e-es.
Me: Why are you in trouble?
Moon: Well...because...wait! First tell me what Peanut told you.

Peanut: Hey, Mom! Did you know you can give your guinea pigs a haircut?
Me: No you can't.
Peanut: Yes you can. You know. Their hair gets long. Then you can just cut it. People cut their guinea pigs' hair.
Me: Okay, maybe they do. But you can't give your guinea pigs a haircut.
Peanut: I know. But, I could.
Me: No. You can't.
Peanut: I know. I'm not. But, I could just take some scissors and trim it a little bit.
Me: No.
Peanut: Or, use a razor and shave it. That would be funny. A shaved guinea pig.
Me: No.
Peanut: Oh, or I could give it a mohawk...

Peanut, standing naked in front of the toilet: Hey, Mom, I know how to do "squishies."
Me: I don't know what that is.
Peanut: Oh, it's from Captain Underpants. It's where you take two packets of ketchup and put them under the toilet seat. Then when somebody sits down....
Me, lightbulb clicking on: Ah! So that explains why there was a packet of hot sauce in the toilet this morning.
Peanut, eyes wide: Wah? Huh? No there wasn't. How did that get there?
Me, giving him the eye: Peanut.
Peanut, eyes wider, shaking his head in disbelief: No-o.
Me, staring and silent.
Peanut, looking down and pulling on his penis: Heh, heh, penis.
Me, staring.
Peanut: Moon did it.
Me, staring.
Peanut: Ok, I do not know how that got there. I mean, I put a packet of hot sauce under the toilet seat, but I took it out and put it in the trash.
Me, shouting into the next room: Moon, how did a packet of hot sauce get under the toilet seat?
Moon, shouting back: Exactly how you think it did.
Me: So, you're saying you knew about it?
Moon: Oh.

At soccer practice...

Peanut: MOM! You see that kid over there?
Me: Which one?
Peanut: The one with the stupid hair. Right there.
Me: Okay, yeah.
Peanut: He just called me a sore loser!
Me: Are you a sore loser?
Peanut: No.
Me: Then tell him to bite you.

Peanut: Oh my God.
Me: Don't say "Oh my god."
Peanut: I can say it if I want to.
Me: No you can't.
Peanut: Yes I can.
Me: I said you can't, and I'm the Mom of you.
Peanut: No you're not.
Me: Oh yes I am. I gave birth to you.
Peanut: Ew. Nasty.

Peanut: Hey, Mom! Do you know what happens when people get bullied?
Me: What?
Peanut: They just take a drug. They take a drug so they don't ever have to go to school and see that bully again.
Me: They do?
Peanut: Yeah. That's what happens when people get bullied. They take drugs and don't go to school anymore.
Me: Huh.
Peanut: At least, that's what they used to do. Back in the olden days.

A few minutes later....

Peanut: Hey, Mom! Tomorrow is the end of red ribbon week.
Me: So, that's the end of your don't do drugs program?
Peanut: Yes.
Me: Are you doing anything special?
Peanut: I'm not sure. But I think if we be good at the end of the day we get to make our own drugs.

Google searches that have led people to my blog in the last month:

1. Covered head to toe in poop
2. Mom and son boobs
3. vaganus
4. big big boobs and weiners
5. Mom son peeing together
6. pooping baby photos
7. mommy yells at me
8. toilet paper lint
9. big mom with son
10. very big moms

And, as a bonus, my seriously fucking favorite google search of all time:
11. milk my udder i am a cow

I can't figure out if I'm more disturbed that people are searching for these things, that there's a shitload of porn with these themes, or that, amidst all that porn, in the first page of Google results, people are finding my blog.

Check out today's post over at Aiming Low:

At grocery store, have a fever, haven't eaten, feeling woozy...

Cashier: That's a real cute handbag!
Me: Oh, thanks.
Cashier: What kind of bags you like?
Me: Uhh, shiny ones?
Cashier: Shiny ones?
Me: Well, I guess I like a nice shoulder bag.
Cashier: I meant paper or plastic.
Me: Oh. Duh. Sorry. I'm kind of a retard.
Cashier: Huh.

And then I look around at all of the people bagging the groceries, and realize that in addition to being kind of a retard, I'm also a complete asshole.