UPDATE TO Mrs. Flinger October 16, 2015
Because the Universe has a wicked sense of humor, after this delcaration, my blog threw up all over my last upgrade.
So I'm starting over using Craft. Turning 40 and kid entering Jr High next year, sometimes it's just time for a change. These archives will still exist in the way the last child goes off to college and their room is the same for 20 years, but it's just time to move forward.
NO. No. N O. NONONO. N-O-no Dec 31, 2005
OH, shit. LB learned how to say No.
Happy NO NO NO NO NO Year to us!
May yours be filled with yes yes yes yes.
Thursday Thirteen! Dec 29, 2005
Mrs. Flinger goes Thursday Thirteen (again). My Thursday Thirteens are public and can be found here.
It’s not just the gray hairs, it’s the bald husband Dec 28, 2005
We had a date night. A DATE NIGHT, people. As in, no baby, a movie, coffee (without chasing the toddler) and dinner. IN. A. BAR. With a drink! And.. did I say this? NO. BABY.
Sad thing is, there are a few things that are different now that we’re parents. Like…
- I totally noticed how loud the previews of the movie are. “Are they *trying* to make people deaf? MY God!”
- I was appalled at the age of children at Harry Potter. “This is PG 13! *I* am a litte freaked out here. Why did they bring their five year old?!”
- When Raffi came on in the bar (I am so not shitting you here) I could name that artist in three notes or less. “OH! Raffii!” (Que singing “Five Green and Speckle Frogs)”
- The possibly sweetest thing one can ever hear, after royally pissing off the husband when getting completely sidetracked by a 60% off shoe sale at Mervyn’s, is “I don’t want shoes, I just want you. We can go shoe shopping with the pooper.”
- I can fart at the bar and he will just keep talking about things like football and fields and teams and totally ignore the stink. However, he’ll grin and say, “Let’s just keep talking” when he does it, but still, how sweet is that?
And, some things just never change.
- He opened the door for me to get in the car. Once. But hey! Once!
- We came in to greet my parents and fill them in on the date.
- There will be no sex tonight.
Breaking Up is hard to do Dec 27, 2005
My battery is dying. (Literally) I’m whiped out. It’s midnight. It’s been an emotional few days. I’ve had two glasses of wine and now I decide to blog? Hellya. I may say something I regret but Internet! I need you!
Go get the authorities Dec 27, 2005
I’ve been held captive by the family. Please send for help.
In the mean time, enjoy a short clip about the end of the world as we know it. Peace.
Merry Effin’ Christmas, Bitches! Dec 24, 2005
Y’all, I wanna wish you the happiest holiday… Merry Christmas! I know I, for one, will be off making the yule tide gay. I sincerely wish you the greatest holiday with your family and friends and loved ones. Peace on earth and may all your children sleep through the night while visions of winning the lottery and stickin’ it to “the man” dance in your heads.
May all your friends understand your emails and take nothing wrong.
May all your dogs not crap in the garage.
May all your house guests use the spare half bath to do their makup and may all your Inlaws hold their tongue about how much weight you still need to lose.
And may all your nieces and nephews behave and may all your FIL let your children sleep (especially for Little Miss.)
Christmas Tree on a Suicide Mission: Perhaps I’ll join… Dec 23, 2005
Our Christmas tree has turned Mary Kate (or was it Ashley?) Olson and stopped eating. It refuses water. It will not drink even though the basin is full. The little needles are beginning to dry out and become brittle and fall. It doesn’t have long now.
This sounds a wee bit more appealing, to die a little every day, then put up with the current living situation. I will go apeshit and my head will spin three-sixty and fire will begin shooting out of my eyes. Don’t push it. Seriously.
Happy Birthday Titties!! Dec 22, 2005
tits boobs turned three years old. That’s right, folks. Three years ago these puppies braved the knife and took off about one to two pounds per boobie. (I’ve been informed that while they are smaller, they still do not perk and thus are not “tits” but rather, the saggier counter part “boob”.) While I was informed that getting the reduction may cause me to have trouble breast feeding, I wouldn’t trade my decision for two minutes. Honest to god, you people who think bigger is better are just sorely wrong. I’m sorry, but *you* never got a black eye from running. *You* don’t have to wear three, yes three, sports bras to chase the dogs. *You* never had blisters on your tits
monmouth boobs from attempting to work out. And so, here I am, six years ago:
Thursday Thirteen: Dec 22, 2005
Here’s my Thursday Thirteen! I’ve done it before, but I hope to be a regular:
I enjoy confrontation like a sandpaper thong Dec 21, 2005
Let’s be honest here (because since when am I anything but?), I hate confrontation. In fact, I hate it so much, I’d rather bitch about you on this here blog than tell you in person. Well, “you” not YOU, since you read this blog, I’m not talking about You, but rather, “you”.
So, I get these emails yesterday. People in my life, I dunno, caught on that I’m pissed. How’s that? Is it because I hide my feelings like Paris Hiltion’s cleavage? Is it because I stand out like midget wrestling? Is it because I wrote more than a few posts about you and you read them, by some freakish accident, like you actually stopped in? Who knows, at any rate, people found out I am pissed.
There are times I think it’s easier to just be mad. It’s easier to just get pissed off and stay pissed off. Honestly, if the option is “working it out” and “talking it through” and “opening up and being honest,” well, I’d rather try on size six jeans with crabs. Talk about uncomfortable. But I guess this is “being the bigger person” and getting over your shit. Guess I got shit to get over. ‘Tis the season and all that.