I miss this

It dawned on me that I haven't shared any of my poetry on here for a long time.

I will do so today. This goes W-A-Y back to when Jenny O'Rourke and I used to spend our days holed up at each other's houses talking about whatever our pre-teen minds could grasp right at that exact moment.

When we weren't running through the farmer's field, getting humped by greyhound dogs or running to catch the bus and crashing through the ice on the mini-pond, effectively missing th bus, we were together. We said and did things that normal pre-teen kids do. Well, mostly pre-teen boys.

We were total tom-boys, neither of us at home in a dress or comfortable with makeup. Give us a tree, a lake or a farmer's field, and we were good to go.

One day, as we sat in the PIG fort (an old knotted tree in the farmer's field), it was discovered that the cows must've been in that field over night. How did we discover this? Why, the giant clumps of cow shit that had amassed on the bottom of my shoe.

"I hate that shit!" Jenny said. And in a moment, we were both giggly because while she said "that shit", she simply meant when stuff like that happens, not the shit, per se.

Later that night, I wrote a poem, inspired by our time that afternoon. And I share it with you now.


Poop!

We all hate poop on our shoe
I hate poop, I'm sure you do!

It comes out your butthole, soft and wet
The more you eat, the harder it will get

Constipation, what a bitch!
Makes your crotch and asshole itch!

Diarrhea! Not again!
It drips in your toilet, like ink from a pen.

Whether it's runny or whether it's dry
You don't want to get poop in your eye.

Poop!


I shared that poem with Jenny the next day and we laughed something fierce. Like two boys having discovered their first porno magazine, we memorized that sucker and said it in unison every time one of us needed a smile.

Our favorite line was the constipation one. We'd say it with such point and purpose.

I miss being a kid. I miss Jenny. I miss it all. I never thought I would.



"You're Gonna Miss This"

She was staring out that window, of that SUV
Complaining, saying, "I can't wait to turn 18"
She said, "I'll make my own money, and I'll make my own rules."
Mamma put the car in park out there in front of the school
Then she kissed her head and said, "I was just like you."


You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast
These Are Some Good Times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this


Before she knows it she's a brand new bride
In a one-bedroom apartment, and her daddy stops by
He tells her, "it's a nice place"
She says, "It'll do for now"
Starts talking about babies and buying a house

Daddy shakes his head and says, "Baby, just slow down

You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast
These Are Some Good Times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this

Five years later there's a plumber workin' on the water heater
Dog's barkin', phone's ringin'
One kid's cryin', one kid's screamin'
She keeps apologizin'
He says They don't bother me.
I've got 2 babies of my own.
One's 36, one's 23.
Huh, it's hard to believe, but ...

You're gonna miss this
You're gonna want this back
You're gonna wish these days hadn't gone by so fast
These Are Some Good Times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna miss this

Analyzing my dreams

I had a dream last night that I was pregnant.

The dream wasn’t about the pregnancy though, it was about my baby shower. For some reason, I was planning my own shower.

The sticking point seemed to be the mariachi band. I didn’t want them to come hatless. If there was going to be a mariachi band, “they are going to wear the god damn giant sombreros! The little dangly balls would be a nice touch.”





Having finally found a band that would do as I suggested, (wear the hats and play every time I opened a gift), I moved on to the next item on my “must have for the shower” list – the cake! The only thing I kept stressing to the cake maker is that “there must be two babies on it, each in the diaper, with the bonnet and over-sized accessories, like you see on tv.”

Then I flashed to me being on the phone. I don’t know who I was talking to, but I was very adamant (as opposed to Adam Ant) that there were to be “a flock of storks” and that they had “better be real and not shit all over everything.”



The next few flashes in my dream were just me on the phone. I don't know what I was doing or who I was talking to. I was just yelling. A lot.

Then suddenly, I was at my shower. I was as big as a house, the mariachi band was doing a splendid job and the caterer was about to deliver the cake.

The caterer came in, dressed like Captain Hook. He was accompanied by a bunch of storks. Real ones. There was no stork shit in sight. Captain Hook was carrying my cake. He set it on the table.

On the left was a baby, in the big diaper & bonnet as requested, but instead of a pacifier, it had a cigar in his mouth and the face of Fidel Castro. The other baby was the same, except it was the face of Saddam Hussein. Both were sitting on nuclear warheads, with one hand in the air, as if they were riding bucking broncos.

Everyone was silent.

I

was

so

incredibly…

HAPPY!

“It’s perfect!” I declared. My guests all applauded. The mariachi band played. And we danced.

And just like that, Jerry’s snoring woke me up. Do you think shoving cotton balls in a sleeping person's nose is mean?

What do you make of that dream?

Just funny stuff I found...

...when I followed a link from my husband.

And because it's too small in that slide show, my favorite would be the Dieting with Jesus magnet set:



If you can't read the small print, it says:

Dieting with Jesus Because that ass needs a miracle!

Under the pictures:
"Your body is a temple. Fill it with salad."
"Work those buns anywhere"
"Fat jeans or skinny jeans? You decide."
"Omega-3 fatty acids are a blessing for that tummy."

"The Lord is our shepherd and he's thinning out the flock"

GO HERE to view them all in more detail. There were so many things I'm in love with, I just had to share my favorites with you! Share yours with me, won't you?

Dr. So-and-so

I have a new doctor. We’ll call him Dr. Jones. (not his real name)

I first went to see Dr. Jones on Monday. You see, I hadn’t been going to my regular doctor because it was too inconvenient for me to drive 25 minutes into the middle of nowhere. I knew that with being on my blood thinner I had to go in every month, but it was too much of a pain in the ass. So I skipped it in November. And December. And January. February and March too. UGH.

At this point, I was too embarrassed to go back to my regular doctor and I really didn’t want a lecture. Instead, I made an appointment with Dr. Smith. I mean Dr. Jones.

We talked about the obvious new patient information first. Eating habits. Sleeping habits. What other meds am I on? Who is my neurologist? Have I had a baseline mammogram? Do I need a pap smear? Do I do anal? You know, that kind of thing.

After talking a bit, he listened to my heart, looked in my ears and explained his office hours. In detail. Including how he gets in at the crack of dawn, but the nurses get in about 7:15. Blah blah blah.

Then, he said, “Open your mouth real wide for me.” I did as instructed. Come on sickos, he used the tongue depressor. The wood one.

Yesterday, he called me personally to tell me my blood test results. He called my work number, and had to leave a voicemail the first time. Incidentally, he went to med school where I work. He finished a couple of years before I started here, so it’s not strange at all. “You’re probably driving into work right now…” Stalker.
My results? Kidney function, good. Thyroid, good. Blood sugar, good. INR (that’s the big one you have done monthly when you’re on a blood thinner), perfect. “Your bloodwork is perfect!” he exclaimed. He then made my appointment to see him in a month. He made it “first thing in the morning” so I could get off to work.

THEN, Dr. Schwartz called me today to ask if he can move my appointment up a day. He giggled a little bit about needing to arrange his Psychiatry experience (what I do for 3rd year med students), and that was that.

Why on earth would he call me personally to change the appointment? He has front office people. He has nurses. The answer is obvious. He wants to do go a complete gynecological exam on me. He probably also wants to do anal with me.

And to that I have to day, “No, Dr. Johnson. Just no. Put your giant tube of KY away. Dr. Hottie gets my girlie bits (and occasionally a finger in my pooper) and if anyone is doing anal on me, it’ll be whoever gives me the most money. I mean my husband. Got that?”

I really do like my new doctor. He’s a pretty righteous dude.

MS Walk 2009, Richmond

A day with Janet and a whole lotta other people to raise money for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society. We had a great time. What have YOU done lately?

Kindergarten registration day

Joshy B had his kindergarten registration yesterday. HOORAY! Look how excited he is - playing his Gameboy on the way to school. Just like a real school kid would.

The school he’s going to gives the Brigance K-1 Screen to all incoming students to help identify those with learning disabilities, and to help place kids in the best environment.

Josh was so excited to go to school finally! He had no problem walking off hand in hand with a pretty little teacher to do the test. They came back about 15 minutes later so the teacher could tell me how he did on the test.

He did really well, but he got a couple of things wrong that he absolutely knows (where your shoulders, elbows, heels and ankles are). I proved his knowledge of putting my hand on his shoulder and, as if on cue, he yelled "don't grab my shoulder!" Or maybe it was his elbow. *shrug* Like mother, like son.

He did, however get perfect scores on the printing your full name, knowing your phone number, address, birth date, counting, letter recognition, tracing shapes, motor skills, blah blah blah.

I was very proud and then she said, “He had an issue with the color recognition.” What? Huh? Josh has known his colors for a few years now. Even pink, gray and magenta. WTF?

“He missed blue," she said.

“Blue?” I said, totally incredulous of the situation.

“Yes, blue. I tried to get him to say it numerous times, but he just wouldn’t do it.”

“What did he think blue was?” I asked her, trying not to sound defensive.

“Dark purple.”

Now, as Josh’s mother, this all made complete sense to me. I know the exact shade of blue the object must have been. It had to be indigo. We have a few things in our house that Josh insists are not blue, but dark purple. He’s absolutely right. I think he's a genius.

Apparently, the teacher said to him, “What might someone else call this color?” in a desperate attempt to get him to say blue. My child, the fruit of my loins, has my sharp wit, sense of humor and intolerance for ignorance. He says to her, “Well, it doesn’t matter. Because if they said it was anything but dark purple, they’d be wrong.” My son, the non-conformist. I'm so proud. Hand me a tissue.

He was sad that he didn’t get to stay for recess. I informed him that his whole life, until September, was recess.

Not to be outdone by his own brilliance, later in the evening, he got me good. We were driving to his gym class and were running a little behind. He announces that he has to poop. Like NOW. So, I pull over at a gas station, get him in the bathroom and nothing. Already late, I hurried him back into the car and set out on the way to class.

I was a little irritated and was talking to him about how it was ok that he didn’t have to go, but he should have told me before I cut across traffic, blah blah blah. We stopped at the red light and I was about to talk about wasting people's time when Josh said, “Look Mom…”

In my head, I just couldn't believe that this child was actually going to try and placate me. You know, something like, "Look Mom, I had to hold it for too long and the urge went away." I cut him off with a stern, “Don’t ‘look Mom’ me!”

I glanced back in my rear view mirror. He had a grin on his face as he calmly repeated, “Look Mom, there’s the money you could be saving with Geico.”

I looked up and sure enough:

The call that unsettles moms everywhere

"Mom! Mommy! Mommymommymommymommy! COME HERE MOMMY!"

I knew it was bad. A frantic cry like that generally signals a minor catastrophe. What would it be this time? He "accidentally" spilled an entire pitcher of water on the bathroom floor?

Oh! I know! He was trying to pour a glass of milk by himself and spilled the entire gallon all over the kitchen floor!

No, wait! It's coming from the back end of his house. He was jumping on the bed and hit the shelf with his head and was holding it against the wall until I got there. That had to be it.

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOMMY!!!!"

It was coming from the bathroom. I never heard the bathtub water running, so it can't be choice A. This is when panic really sets in. Did he use too much toilet paper? Did it clog up the toilet? Is there toilet water all over my bathroom? Oh my god! Am I out of bleach? What will I clean it up with? Where is my mop? Should I grab the rubber gloves? How will I get TO the toilet? I can't step in the dirty toilet water mess...

"MOOOOOOOOOOMMY!!! HURRY!"

I opened the door with much trepidation. All moms know this feeling. It's both curiosity and dread. It lasts only for a split second. It begins the moment you put your hand on that door knob and ends when that quarter turn of the handle grants you entry into the "surprise zone." It is at the exact moment of entry that you know the appropriate reaction.

I liken that moment to Apollo 13, when they were unsure what would happen upon re-entry. Would they make it? Would they be incinerated? Would Tom Hanks, Kevin Bacon and Bill Paxton live to act another day? All these questions and more will be answered...

...as soon as you open the door.

There sat Josh, on the throne. His t-shirt crumbled up in a ball, thrown in the corner. A quick survey of the area tells me there's no water, no overflow. Josh does not look panicked. He is actually grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "It was just like a gun!"

"What are you talking about?"

"My butt! It was just like a gun! And it shot out little cannon balls! THEY WERE MADE OF POOP!"

This is where he got off of the toilet and pointed inside. "Look! They're like little cannon balls and my butt shot them out! Do you see them? DO YOU SEE MY LITTLE CANNON BALL SHAPED POOP?"

I did see them. Perfect poop nuggets.

**Not my kid's actual poo

I'm so proud. So very proud.

Helpful links:

Go here to get the scoop on poop.

Here's where you go for info on farts including a list of which animals don't fart. No, really.

Happy reading!

My favorite blanket

I have a favorite blanket. It’s blue microfiber and filled with feathers. It has a tag on it that talks about how to wash it in a machine.

I’ve washed it many times, according to these very directions. Gentle setting, blah blah blah. It’s been really nice having a front-load washer with the “hand wash” setting.

Oh wait a minute. I HAD a favorite blanket.

..

..

I used to have a favorite black jacket too.....

..

..

Good Friday - a good night for dying!

Dear Paper Magic Group, Inc. :

I am writing to you about your “Marvel Superhero Easter Egg Coloring Kit”.

First, I was extremely pleased with the content of your kit. While a bit overpriced at $2.99, I was willing to pay an extra dollar to have the Incredible Hulk, Iron Man, Wolverine, Captain America, and a bunch of other freaks I don’t know stuck all over my Easter Eggs. However, you may, in the future, want to go ahead and throw in the white crayon. Don’t be stingy. I mean, Paas includes one in their kits and I could have gotten that one for .99. I chose yours though. Send me my fucking crayon please.

The first thing we tried were the egg wrappers. I could not even get those fuckers on ½ of my eggs. While I know that irregular shaped eggs are not your fault, I do expect that when you suggest using “Large Eggs for best fit” that any of the eggs I try to slip that wrapper around from the “Grade A Large Egg” carton should actually go into the damn thing. 20 minutes later, one egg down, I opted to find the smaller looking eggs in the carton. The other two were a much better fit – initially.

Now when you say submerge the egg with wrapper in hot water and wait, you really need to figure that people actually read your directions and follow them. Hot water did nothing to shrink the wrappers. I had to boil water to shrink wrap those little bitches. You should have just warned me up front by stating in the directions to use boiling, not hot, water. It would have saved me 30 minutes.

I pulled the first egg out, lovely. Perfect. That was the wrapper that took me 20 minutes to get around the egg. The other two look like complete shit and it’s obvious that the eggs that slid right in were too small because the shit doesn’t shrink THAT much. Those eggs now have ruffly-bottomed Iron Man and Hulk. But hey, I’m not picky.

So now, an hour and a half since starting my prep work, it’s time to start dying the rest of the eggs! The colors were mixed and the mugs o’ color carried to the table where a gorgeous 5 year old boy waited anxiously to “kill my eggs!” (Dye, to a 5 year old is the same as DIE which is the same as KILL).

The little egg wand thingie you include to hold the egg in the dye sucks major dick. It was nearly impossible to bend and only after 10 minutes with a lighter to heat it up to make it more pliable (a blow torch was not accessible this evening) was I able to bend it enough to make it resemble an egg dipper. We used it as a monocle and talked with British accents though. I may save it and be Mr. Peanut for Halloween next year.

The colors were all so vibrant (I used the optional vinegar in all but the pink, as directed). We were very pleased with the shades of blue, green, orange and yellow. Those eggs turned out fabulously with rich, deep color, just right for sticking Wolverine stickers on. He looks FABULOUS on green, especially when you used a light wash technique as opposed to soaking your egg in the cup.


The pink dye, however, is another story. We wound up not having any eggs dyed pink, although I’m sure if we had, they too would be gorgeous. Apparently, your recipe doesn’t make enough dye to color my floor, my son’s t-shirt, his jeans, his tennis shoes, the kitchen table, the 6 hand towels used to clean up the spill and my once beige cushioned dining room chair. I should mention that this was a mom accident, not a kid accident. I own my mistakes.

I was able to get the stain out of the floor & shoes thanks to Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. The clothes and towels seemed to respond well to a quick soak in hot water, a squirt of Shout and an immediate wash in Tide.

The chair has yet to respond to Shout. Or Tide. Or Woolite High Traffic Carpet and Upholstery Cleaner. And so, it is with humility and defeat that I welcome you, Paper Magic Group, Inc. as a permanent fixture into my home.

Sincerely,

Kim B

PS: I stuck the Storm sticker on my Easter Egg (the one that says MOM – or at least it was supposed to. I used a shitty Friendly’s crayon to write my name on it and the wax didn’t stick as well as it should have.)

Randomosity

Updates updates updates!

JERRY

The incision/implant site where they put the battery pack is infected. The worst part? He got poked in the butt and I wasn't even there to watch it or enjoy it.

A lead has apparently moved or something broke, as the stimulator is no longer stimulating the areas where he needed pain relief, so now he’s back to where he was before any of the surgeries, half of the pain meds and an infected stomach incision. His surgeon refuses to see him until the 17th. Fucker.

The outlook? Who the fuck knows. I Just want my happy husband back. ..


DAKOTA

I don’t write much about Dakota, mostly because he’s 14 and plays video games. Plus, he’s 14 and so he thinks Jerry and I are the most stupid people in the world and really can’t be bothered with us. Parents of teens know how this is.

I do my best to remind him that I’m the coolest chick he knows. I think he gets it – mostly. Unless I tell him it’s time to take out the trash and that “no, it really can’t wait until you’re done with your instance, whatever the hell that might mean.”

I made him clean his room. He hated me for like a week. I remember hating my mom whenever she made me clean my room. I think that means I’m doing a good job.

Not actual room. This one is too clean.

ME

Switching to Copaxone from Rebif. Shots will now be every day instead of 3 days a week, however the side effects are said to be minimal, unlike what I deal with now.

I’m doing my first MS Walk of the year on April 18. Some very wonderful people donated money to that walk (as well as the 50 mile walk) and so I’m not really looking for anyone to donate there (unless you want to, then let me know!) And if you're in the Richmond area and want to pound some pavement with me, let me know. $25 signs you up, no minimum fundraising required after that. Come show your support and while you're at it, I'll grope you. Come on, just a little bit?

Feeling ok, just totally stressed about Jerry’s situation. Really.


JOSH

I will register Josh for Kindergarten next Thursday. I’m ready. I hope he doesn’t play stupid when they do his little interview thingie to determine which class to put him in. I hope he shines like the bright star that he is and wows them with his vast knowledge. If I can just get him to talk about circumnavigating the globe, I think we’ll be ok. If he's in major Joshy B mode, though I may have to buy him a helmet and a harness.

He really wants to take karate lessons, but doesn’t call it karate like you and I say karate. He says “Kah-rah-TAY”. He rocks, in case you didn’t know. We're looking at Dong's Karate. It's the best in town and, uh the website is www.dongs.com Would you expect my kid to go anywhere else?

The other night in the tub, playing with his pirate ship, he discovered that the Fisher Price Little People have a hole in the bottom of their feet. He also discovered that his penis fits inside of it. How do I know this? Becase he goes, “Look Mom!” and I glance over to see the pirate from his pirate ship on his penis, like a finger puppet. Josh just giggled and yelled, "ARRRRRRRGH!". I see “dirty puppet show organizer” on his list of jobs he’ll hold as an adult. Along with horse whisperer...

Josh cannot wait for Memorial Day.You know why? “Because we get to stay home for 3 days in a row!”

And now, I need your help. Jerry sent me a picture and asked if I could “guess what this is”. I’ve made all of the obvious guesses. “Nope” has been his response for each one. So tell me what you think this is:

Open Letter to Frederick's of Hollywood

Dear Frederick’s of Hollywood:

I’m writing to you to express my displeasure at the apparent discontinuation of your line of bras known as “Liquid Dream”.

I was first introduced to the Liquid Dream collection back in 2005 (roughly). I was in need of a good bra to help me fill out the top portion of a dress. I thought I would give it a try. Sure, I was nervous about a water bra. I mean who doesn’t live in fear of springing a leak at a very inopportune moment? I’ll tell you who – chicks with gigantic tatas. But that’s neither here nor there. I was a nervous wreck, but once I got the bra in my hot little hands, (or more correctly, once I got my girls all tucked inside) I was hooked.

It wasn’t filled with water at all, but rather a smooth gel that seemed to warm to my body temperature. This was especially helpful in the winter when the lower temperatures normally causes my nipples to harden and rub against other bras, often chaffing their little sensitive bits. No one really likes to have their nips rubbed raw because their titty erection just won’t go away. Explaining that one to the doctors is never pleasant. What? Who among us has never presented an injured nipple to a doctor? Does it really matter HOW it got injured? By the way - for the chaffing, try udder cream.

I ordered several different styles of this bra and for the first time felt like a woman with a nice set of knockers! It was very liberating. It was like having boobies that I could stick in my drawer when they weren’t convenient (like when exercising or horse back riding.)

The aqua colored bra lasted quite a long time, but has become stretched out and not nearly as comfortable as it used to be. Often times, the left breast looks saggy, and that’s not even my good-sized side! I’m certain part of the problem is that I often take off my bra while sitting on my couch. You know the drill…unhook the bra, reach up through your sleeve, take off one side, then the other and voilla! You’ve managed to get off the tit bondage contraption without flashing any innocent bystanders, such as your children or your Mother-in-law.

The pretty pink embroidered number lost one of the underwires not long ago. I remember it well. I was sitting at work wondering WTF was poking me in my well-displayed cleavage. I looked down and there it was. I didn’t even know this bra had underwire until that very day!

The sand colored one? Well that one is just a lost cause, as it has accidentally gone through the dryer on more than one occasion. The gel packet inside the right cup is all bunched together (I do believe it has melted) and when I wear it, my titties look very lumpy. It’s a no go.

So it came time for me to order a new bra or two and I go to your website to find that you no longer carry the Liquid Dream line. You do have a new line called “Liquid Lift Bra”. I’m not entirely sure that this isn’t just the “Liquid Dream” collection with a higher price tag.

I am concerned about the new moniker, however. “Liquid Dream” was perfect because it was always my dream to have luscious sweater puppies. “Liquid Lift” implies that I have something there that just needs to be lifted up. What do you think you can lift? Sure, maybe the right side will give you something to work with, but unless you’re lifting other parts of my body that have extra fat (read: everywhere below the rib cage) then really, there’s nothing to lift.

I will order one of your Liquid Lift bras, but if my tits don’t look $11 worth better than they did when I bought the Liquid Dream bras, your ass had better be giving me some type of compensation. I cannot have gaps in my shirt where my hooters should be. I cannot have uneven breasts, unless I’m naked. I’m hopeful, yet guardedly so.

Thank you for your time.

Very Sincerely (and hopefully soon to be very busty again),

Kim

Woman - the other white meat

It was a dreary, rainy Monday. Here I was, stuck at work, wishing I had the balls to walk up to my boss and say, “Hey, Bossman! 75% of my work is doable from home. There are many idiots around her who pretend to work from home and those who claim that they stay until 9:00 at night sometimes. It would be painfully obvious if MY work wasn’t getting done, so it’d be like a built in work-checker. What you say you let me work from home 2-3 days a week on a trial basis and make it a permanent deal when you see how productive I really can be?

That’s not likely to happen and it has nothing to do with my story. Other than all good stories have a back story and some fluff, don’t they? Yeah, consider that my fluff. The editors can nix it if they like. Back to the point of my story.

So I log on to AcebookFay and decide it’d be a good day to go on an Easter Egg hunt! So, I hide some eggs for a couple of people who I hope won’t disown me for doing so. In return, I get a couple of eggs.

As I’m about to close the page for the really cool chocolate Easter bunny egg that Aaron sent me page and… wait one minute! I have a mid-story story to tell you! I only thought of it because Word puts the little red scribbly under Easter if I don’t capitalize it.

Which made me think of our archaic and very discriminatory system of dates. We use the term “BC” to denote that the year we’re discussing is before the birth of Christ, i.e., Jesus if you will. Why is this unfair? Why because if you’re not a Christian, you don’t subscribe to the idea that he was, indeed Christ. BUT I think a majority of people (yes, even non-Christians) can allow for the fact that there was a dude named Jesus. Are you with me? So, let’s change the BC to PJ (pre-Jesus) so as to continually be more PC around this, and many other, Christian holidays. Fair enough? *wild laughter*

OK, back to my sordid tale. As I am about to close that chocolate Easter Bunny egg page, what do I see? That social networking site that shall remain nameless WANTS ME TO BE A LESBIAN, or at the very least, bisexual! Really!

I have the proof. Want to see it? (Sorry Kristin. You’re implicated in this, even if it’s not by your own doing.)

....

OMG! They want me to eat her! This raises all sorts of questions. First and foremost, should I consider it? Secondly, what will my husband think? Thirdly, what would HER husband think? And what about mutual friends or other family members? What if we meet face to face and she doesn’t find me all that attractive? Or vice-versa? Have any of you out there gotten invites to eat ME? Will it matter that I’ve never done this sort of thing before? Will she be forgiving if I make mistakes and am not very good at it? Will she return the favor? Will others be watching? Will there be video? Will it wind up on YouTube? I mean, this is a whole new type of “social networking” don’t you think?

Between that and Meagan and Donna constantly accusing me of being stupid (so says a popular social networking site that begins with the letter F) and mystery people on my friends list who HATE me (so I’ve been told by, you guessed it, FB) I’m just not so sure that site is for me. Then again, perhaps it’s right up my alley.

Please return your faulty uterus

Guts are fun for the whole family. Nothing brings a family closer together than talking about liver function or how many ways a spleen is useful. However, please be aware that your uterus may be faulty.

Apparently, small children could pull off the ovaries, sticking them in their mouths and choking on them. I myself have never had this problem, but I'm not saying that it couldn't happen.

Direct from the recall site: "If you gave the uterus as a gift, please forward this email to the recipient(s)."

"If your...uterus is NOT accessible to young children, and you wish to keep your beloved uterus, you may opt-out via email."

Click for full text re: your recalled uterus

They cannot replace the uterus once you return it, but they will give you a refund and a discount on another organ. You have many to choose from:

"The giant orgy of guts includes heart, lungs, liver, kidney, brain, pancreas and gallbladder."

I am ordering this post-haste because they referred to this being a "giant orgy". I'm all in.

If it is "being used by a young child, please remove it immediately."

It would seem to me that some child, somewhere, is going to be broken-hearted at the loss of her uterus at such a young age. So sad. Now what will she hang her dreams of the future on? Certainly not her ovaries.

There are those who will say, "Shame on you for making fun of people. You know some young girls do have to have their uterus removed for medical reasons." To those people who grumble at me, I say, "May you choke on my ovaries".

This may replace my "Suck it, all of you" line since Tina Fey used it at the SAG Awards, or the Globes, or wherever that was. She can choke on my ovaries too.

XOXO