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.
If you wanna be a whore, I’ll be your pimp *edited Jan 13, 2006
*update* I in no way mean “whore” bad. Sure, I know what you think of.. sexy ladies with high heels and spandex on the street. No, no, I mean whore GOOD. You know, like BITCH is good here. MMmmK? Now, move along, there is nothing more to be flabergasted about here.
Some of you noticed that I started a Mrs. Flinger’s Pimped section. I also placed a Mrs. Flinger’s Pimping on the Log in page. I’m working on a place where you can nomiate blogs to get pimped. I thought it would be fun to meet new and fab blogs and those worthy of being taken notice of. I alreayd have a stack of about fifteen lined up. I mean, there are a lot of damn good blogs out there!
The Pimped area of this blog is public to get the maximum traffic from curious visitors. (er.. minus my Uncle) There is a button you can add to your sidebar if you get pimped if you wanna. I’m not asking for any return pimpage (is that a word?) other than letting people know that THEY can in turn get pimped. Like I said, it’s optional but the code is on the sidebar if you wanna use it.
Thursday Thirteen, week 4 Jan 12, 2006
Almost didn’t do this one today. But how do I stop now? Here ya go….
It’s not so funny now, is it? Jan 11, 2006
I used to exclaim “Oh! My Uterus hurts!” when I’d see adorable babies. Obviously, it was my proverbial uterus as I wasn’t experiencing cramping, firey, seering pain. No, I did not understand what those words actually meant. To me it was the ol’ biological clock ticking and it was funny because “ohhh, looky! A baby! He’s so cute my uterus hurts!”
Poetic Procrastination Jan 09, 2006
Twas the night before work
and all through the house
every creature was stirring
and keeping mommy from working
There were assignments to post
and blogs to be read
As you can surely imagine
She worked with much dread
Mommy with her handkerchief
From her brand new cold
Wanted to sleep
For she was feeling too old
But what to her blood shot eyes should appear?
A cup of hot java made by her dear.
It steamed with delight
a right jolly ol? cup
and she knew in a moment it would keep her right up
She plodded along
Trying hard to think
And as she worked she sipped
Her most luscious drink
But still in the end
She had trouble, you see
If it?s not bloggy distractions
It?s the fifteen trips to go pee
My pants are so tight I’m about to pop an ovary Jan 08, 2006
I was so proud of myself. I bought a size ten jeans at the Gap a few weeks back and :: sucking it in :: they fit! THEY FIT!! Well, mostly. Anyway, I wore them four days in a row because they’re the only semi-hip thing I’ve bought in months and they sordda make my ass look smaller. PLUS, they’re a size ten, remember? I used to BE a size ten. Oh, I used to be a size six, but let’s got get depressed or anything.
Anyway, I wore my jeans, And wore them. And they got dirty, because I kept wearing them and I have a 14 month old. I washed said jeans and do you know what? They’re a size 2 now. Holy shit they shrunk. I put them on yesterday thinking how lovely it is that I can gain forty pounds, apparently, in a matter of the sixty minutes it takes my laundry to dry. I. Can’t. Breathe.
But I wore them anyway. All day. ‘Cept by 6 pm or so my right overy started to have a party in my uterus. All sorts of bangin’ and hurtin’ and crampin’. I could crumple up into a pile of estrogen on the floor at borders but I refrain. I try to look comfortable. I mean, they’re jeans, right? JEANS, people. The epitome of comfort. Right? RIGHT?
I think I just popped my ovary loose.
My ass is smarter than your ass Jan 06, 2006
Hey, it may be dimply, but it can make phone calls. Can yours?
BTW: Who else did I call that day? Kerry said she got a call from my cell (not me talking, btw) and now Anne did, too. Oy. If I happen to call the President and he hears my ass scuffle, I hope he doesn’t think we’ve been bombed or something equally horrid. My ass CAN sound a bit like a bomb. Just ask Mr. Flinger.
Hot Mamma (or not) Jan 06, 2006
I’ve been pondering this topic lately: Is motherhood hot? See, I’m not the hottest chick out there. I’m not fugly or nuttin’, but I’m not Angalina Jolie with kids. I’m not even Britney Spears looking rather large. No, I’m more like your typical mom with wrinkles, some gray “highlights,” fat jeans and yes, saggy boobs. I have it all, baby.
So when I asked Mr. Flinger, “Is motherhood hot?” He was a little too quick to say “it can be.”
“What do you mean it can be?”
“You know, when you’re not complaining it is.”
Thirteen Distractions Jan 05, 2006
Don’t forget: All of ‘em are here! and open to the public.
Maybe I should just start wearing lycra and get it over with Jan 04, 2006
So, um, I’m not very good in public. No, really, I know you think I’m this amazingly hip, glorious goddess with a great, tight ass and small boobies and the wit of a thousand Kramers . :: snort :: So, well, don’t be too disappointed when I tell you, I am special needs in public relations. I ride the short bus to “out there.” Seriously. It’s not pretty.
Two days ago I decided to take LB to “the big city” alone. We met up with our good friends and then broke off for some quality mommy, baby time. My poor daughter is already mordified to be with me in public and she still craps her pants in the line at the supermarket while making grunting noises and smiling at the cashier. (well, she does!) It started out innocently enough, I accidentally bumped our very expensive, all organic salad and spilt 3/4 of it on the floor. Thinking out loud, “Shit! That’s six bucks of salad I threw out!” I scooped up what I could and proceeded to feed it to my 14 month old. We left the insanely expensive hippy market and headed for Bed Bath and Beyond for, Yup!, more totes! ‘Cept that when I pulled into the parking lot, I somehow misread the position of the curb and rammed my car up on the sidewalk. In front of a family of six. No. I really did this.
I gather my pride off the cement, take LB into the store and start shopping. Let’s not talk about the pile of bins I knocked over, the child that started screaming (mine) or the old lady I nearly knocked off her feet. Let’s just say it wasn’t one of my more graceful outings.
Heading home I decided to pee at Starbucks, feed the kiddo, and pray to God she naps in the car. I got into the back of the subaru to get her blanket out of the stroller and went about my merry business. Getting back into the car, I noticed the dome light was on. Odd! Oh well, I thought, let’s go, kiddo! About two blocks from Starbucks my back door opens and the umbrella stroller roles out in traffic, I shit you not, and I had to pull over while cars veered and honked and cussed wildly at me.
This is only one day, people, of things that I do. This is only a mere sample of what my life is like. It’s every day. It’s every minute. It’s a gawdaham slap stick comedy routine only I’m the stick. With all the looks I get in public, you’d think I was wearing lycra. And that, y’all, is what I just might have to start doing. At least people can point at my dimply ass instead of the coffee stains on my white shirt. Maybe.