And I'd like to thank Mother Nature for kicking me in the taint while I'm down

So, as I mentioned previously, things have been a little shitty (a lot shitty) for me lately. And I hate to sound like I'm having a huge pity party (I AM having a huge pity party), because I know I'm fortunate in a lot of ways. My kids are healthy, we have a roof over our heads, the bills are all paid, etc... But I have clearly done something to piss off the universe (Ahem, sorry god for peeing in all those church parking lots, but it's basically your fault for giving me a tiny bladder and not putting enough public toilets in locations that would allow me to not pee my pants on the way home from the bar, but I figure I should apologize just to cover my bases in case this is all just a case of bad pee karma).

So, anyway, you know how when things are bad, you always think, "well, at least things couldn't get any worse," but then they always do? Yeah. That. So, things got fucked up, and I wanted to think they couldn't get any worse, but I had a strong suspicion that they would. And they did. And then they did again. And then they got even worse. So, I pretty much figured THAT had to be rock bottom. And it basically was. Until Mother Nature decided to get involved. Specifically, in the midst of my anguish & grief, I discovered that the bearded clam is turning into a silver fox (for those of you who aren't big on euphemisms, I FOUND GRAY PUBES!!!!). Motherfuck. Seriously? As if I'm not feeling shitty enough, I need to have it pointed out that my vagina is getting old? Thanks, Mother Nature. Thanks a lot.

My uterus is a filthy whore

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'.

Tell me about it

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.

My vaganus is good for something

Looky, Daddy!, is holding his Third Annual Haiku Madness contest, and yours truly is a finalist. Or, my vagina is. Well, technically, my vaganus....

Anyway, I want to win, so, go vote. Unless you think someone else's haiku is better, in which case, you can just go to Hell.