A Joke, from Zip:

A woman goes to the doctor for her yearly physical. The nurse starts with certain basic items.

“How much do you weigh?” she asks.

“115,” she says. The nurse puts her on the scale. It turns out her weight is 140.

The nurse asks, “Your height?”

“5 foot 8,” she says.

The nurse checks and sees that she only measures 5′ 5″. She then takes her blood pressure and tells the woman it is very high.

“Of course it’s high!” she screams, “When I came in here I was tall and slender! Now I’m short and fat!”

You know those lists, those “diet coke or diet pepsi?” “diamonds or pearls?” lists? I made up my own. Feel free to pilfer:

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Love this one. My next car needs to be a lowrider.

Ya’ll realize, I hope, that if you’re looking at my blog and something really weird is there, under comments, that it is not our crowd — it’s the…

OK. I cannot use any of the words that these folks use to track me down. So read between the lines:

They’re sp@!mers. I f&!king despise them. I spend a large part of my day deleting na&*y comments left by s@amm#!$ on my blog and Hockey God’s. In fact, I deleted about 20 comments today alone on the two blogs, including half a dozen on Hockey God’s, left from the time we got home from Wacky Girl’s dentist appointment (at 6 p.m.) and now (8:30 p.m., same day).

Oddly, he gets about three times more junk mail than I do. Just like our snail mail.

Re: dentist. WG needs braces. She is six. “Six year olds don’t get braces!” you’re no doubt thinking, “They don’t, like, even have all their permanent teeth yet. WTF Wacky Mommy?” They get “appliances” now, then braces later. I have been told this is expensive. Please don’t tell me how expensive. I’m enjoying denial. Her teeth are way crookedy. Good word, no? Crookedy. Makes it seem almost comical, instead of “F&*@!ng h&*l we have to re-fi the house for this?” Her bite and jaw will get “even worse and she will need surgery,” according to the two dentists and two orthodontists we have seen.

“You might be looking at surgery, on down the road, anyway,” they say.

“It’s too soon to tell the extent of this,” they say. Although they all agree that the poor kid’s mouth is a mess.

“You can make payments,” they all say.

Good, good, that’s a comfort.

So the junk mail? Please ignore. Thanks and have a splendiferous night.

Calling all bloggers:

D. Challener Roe is looking for the help of bloggers to post tributes — five years after — to those we lost on Sept. 11, 2001.

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Miss Zoot rules my blogger universe. Well, you knew that already, prolly. But her column today (“Whatever Works”) just gave me a good kick. And I mean that as a compliment.

Also, Rockstar Mommy’s baby is learning to walk.

And Amalah? Settling in to stay-at-home-motherhood quite nicely.

Off computer now to do dishes and play with kid. Not in that order.

My Wacky Sister, God love her, loves my kids. Loves, loves, adores, wants to gobble them up. And love, of course, means bringing them those gawdawful pink and white frosted animal cookies when she babysits.

I have developed a huge addiction to these little monsters. They’re like crack cocaine. The sprinkles! The frosting! Two kinds! Gimme another bag, would you? Apparently I’m not the only one. See?

Here is yesterday’s e conversation about them, with Wacky Cousin (we’d also been talking about her morning sickness, do any foods sound good now, etc. Her bebe is growing along just fine, I am pleased to report):

“Those cookies are gross! Jesus. I ate 5 for dessert. After breakfast. You don’t eat dessert with breakfast, it’s a rule. No Dessert Just Cuz You Ate Your Breakfast.”

Her advice? Perfect, as always. She should be writing the advice column around here: “Um. Your rules seem to have changed. But that’s okay, too. However! Everyone deserves dessert cuz they ate their breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day, and if they ate it, that’s good. And yes, almost everything sounds good, except clams. They smell like pee. But whatever is good because, really, I can’t make up my mind. Ever. About anything. And those cookies are NOT gross. They are good, and probably good for you, because those animal cookies are good for you, and sprinkles don’t even count. So, just the frosting is left and it has to be good for you cuz it’s pink and white. Those are good for you colors. Ok, not white, but pink means fruit. And fruit is good for you, so just don’t eat the white ones, and you are good.
Love you.”

OMG. Sounds like she has that pregnancy amnesia I remember so fondly. Although I couldn’t remember anything at the time. Sheesh. Off to the kitchen. I think there may be a handful of cookies left.

Go look at this blog right now.

Go Fug Yourself

The monkeys just can’t help it. (Thanks for this, Wacky M.)

From CNN: “The Tom Cruise birthing seminar: ‘A fun game of learning,’ says actor”

Here you go. Would really, really love to do an episiotomy on this fuckhead.

On another note: The Easter Bunny came by — we’re all having chocolate hangovers now. Wacky Girl made signs that said “This way” with arrows drawn below, and posted them around the house, pointing to the baskets on the table.

Wacky Boy was serenading us last night: “What are you doing/to make me haaaaaaaapy?” OMG. Uh, devoting my life to you?