I’m Fat.

If I lost 40 pounds I could talk shit about everyone.

I tried to blame the new baby on why I’m still wearing gigantic Walmart underwear, but my sister reminded me that he’s almost 7 months old and so it’s probably the wine and microwave popcorn.

Damned Homestyle. What does that even mean? Absolutely no popcorn that I have made at home has EVER tasted like Pop-secret Home style popcorn. That ficking shit is awesome. Especially with the Walmart jalapeno cheese powder. A laboratory symphony.

My son doesn’t eat McDonald’s ever since we told him about the chemicals and chicken toes in the nuggets. (Ever get a chewy bit? TOES!) But sometimes I’ve had enough of this world (and dishes) and I need a quick dinner.

Me: Do you guys want McDonalds?

Kid: No.

Me: What about KFC?

Kid: Does it have chemicals?

Me: ….

….

….

 

Um, no.

Kid: Ok, I want chicken and french fries.

 

God, I am a horrible parent.

 

Giving in to Social Media

I’ve been mad at Facebook for a long time, but I finally enabled my timeline and got my blog to re-sync.

I think it has to do more with Mark Zuckerberg’s I’m-a-hip-yet-nerdy-cool-youthful-billionaire-hate-able face combined with that movie, The Social Network (which kind of ruined Jesse Eisenberg for me too… and on a side note: I am really getting sick of this nerds are cool thing. Nerds aren’t cool. They don’t wear gray skinny jeans. They don’t get the girl. Nerds are uncool. That’s why they are nerds. )

Anyhow. Hating facebook, et al. Wishing they had made a movie about Google so I could properly hate on them for not paying their taxes and making employees feel bad about drinking cokes by putting a red line under where they offer them up for free.

I also updated my twitter account if only to have a variety of profile photos.

Time to shift my hating towards the racist North Hollywood Target. “Come buy our crap, working people. But let me check your receipt on the way out.”

F&*$ you, dude. If you wanted to know if I paid for this $64 tricycle that I should have stolen, then you should have been around to help me while I was lugging it out of my cart because the cashier was too lazy. This isn’t Costco, you’re not counting my items. See-ya.

I Only Say These Words…

So this started out because Matt & I were arguing over something about whether Fur Elise was in  tempo. It went from there to student loan debt (which I have a lot of) to a new baby Bazel crying to listening to the stuff we wrote together (really good except for how nasally I sound) to listening to the song Matt wrote me after our second date.

I played that song for my dad and he was like… “This song is not about you.”

It was radio quality… but it’s like a fat girl hearing a song on the radio and like the guy who’s trying to bang her behind the shed sings a line or two in her ear to get her pannies off and then she’s all “This song is for me!’

And my embarrassed Dad is all… “Um, honey, you have an extremely common name…” All the while she is insisting that this song is for HER.

That song was for me. Three terrible babies later.

 

$5 Merlot + deep french kiss + pre-made bottle = Husband will feed baby at 11:39pm so you can write blog post and edit book that should have been finished years ago.