Intro To Chuck Norris School of Communication

Well-Meaning Woman: How has your life changed since Griffin was born?
Me: In so many wonderful ways, I can't imagine my life without him.
WMW: How has your day to day life changed?
Me: Well, most of my day has to be reorganized into small bursts of activity around when he needs me.
WMW: Would you say you're still able to do a Suduko a day?
Me: (Commence roundhouse kicking to WMW's face).

In Stores Now

I don't know when it happened but all of a sudden I realize I am a conceited piece of poo, either that or just plain cheap. Why? You ask. Because this year for Christmas I am giving everyone a picture of myself. Nothing says holiday cheer like gifting someone your big dumb face smiling away at some ridiculous moment that they were not originally a part of. And it's like saying, "because you don't think of me enough, here's a picture to put in your house so that you must remember me often and think constantly of my face. Happy Birth of Jesus!"

If you are reading this right now and jealous that you are not in our inner circle and therefore will be missing out on the picture of my face for Christmas, here:

And don't say I never got you anything. And don't even look for the receipt because there isn't one.

Today in My Life: V.

In spirit of Christmas...

Today in my life I realized I haven't had a visit from the Red River in 14 months! A-Ma-Zing, this realization.

Merry Christmas, one and all!

Or He Could Be Swedish

I must say a recent development in my physical health is quite perplexing and not at all appreciated by yours truly. Every morning I wake up, or you could say, when I wake up for the third time in the night and it is somewhere between 7am and 9am, I have an excruciating headache. Now, I am not a complainer but I could think of a more pleasant way to wake up such as to a warm pot of coffee and baking cinnamon rolls, or to a crackling fire and piping hot apple cider, or even to a warm terrycloth robe and Hans - an Austrian masseuse. Hell, I would settle for waking up without this f-ing headache. This development is not exactly newsworthy, but when we started this relationship we agreed to tell each other everything so I won't hold out on you about this. And hopefully, like my lack of physical fitness, I can find humor in it and it won't suck so bad.

So in closing, I would like to ask Santa for several things: a headache-free morning, a slammin' bod, and Hans.

ON LOCATION

So, though I've promised many a time and never actually delivered, I am officially blogging on location. Allow the awe to wash over you. Do not deny it.

This writing is made possible because I am wall to wall relatives here in Columbus fighting over each other to watch, change, feed, cuddle, kiss, and whathaveyou my child to death. It is, as they say, a wonderful world.

Though I must preface this with the submission that if you allow said relatives to smother your child with attention when you want them to, they may also begin new and exciting habits like getting your little person up at 6AM to play with him even though he NEVER EVER gets up at 6AM and therefore forces you to get up at 6AM when you are ON VACATION PEOPLE.

Wow. Sorry about the yelling so early in the morning. Had to vent*.

* Seeing as how I'll be home with an offensive amount of relatives for approximately a month, I may be "venting" quite often. I will not apologize, you must bear the weight with me if you want to benefit from the hilarity of my prose. Amen and Hosana in the Highest.

Kind of Obsessed

I think it's the fact that I can watch someone else struggling with parenthood more than myself or the fact that I can find comfort in the fact that I only have 1 child while Kate and Jon have 8, or because by watching someone more bitchy than me I feel vindicated in my own bitchiness, but whatever it is, I'm kind of obsessed with Jon and Kate Plus 8. By "kind of" I mean totally.

I realized the extent of my obsession when I willingly watched Ultimate Fighting last night because Grant said I had to watch it if I ever wanted him to watch Jon and Kate again. So I watched the hell out of those crazy sons of b*tches bleeding all over each other, yes sir. And tonight!

JON AND KATE MARATHON.

The gods have rewarded my fortitude.

Ah sweet victory.

Happy Insanity Holidays

There are few certainties in life save for death, taxes, and the inevitable: every family has it's share of "crazy". So let's talk about the latter, shall we?

Haven't we all made the statement "but everyone's family's got issues" after railing for 30 minutes about how crazy your family is, or how annoyed you are at so-and-so, or how crazy that person's family is, etc, etc? Nod your head, it's okay, I laugh at the TV screen all the time.

My problem is, I am 520+ miles away from said family and so all of the things that should drive a person crazy just make me miss mine more. As dysfunctional as we all are, and trust me, we're dysfunctional with a capital Dys, I love those crazy sons of b*%^$es, I really do.

So hug your loved ones tight this Chrismas-Hanukkah season and whisper discreetly, "You know you're ass backwards insane, but I love you anyway. And if my present's another Roadside Emergency Kit, I'll kick you in the balls. Merry Chrismas".

Ex-caruuse Me? Oh, No You Di'nt.

Though there is an abominably large amount of information I need to share with you regarding the past few weeks of my boring life - this issue is pressing... (on my "BITCH MOMENT Processing Center").

After hauling ass to get the three of us on our flight home to Columbus for Thanksgiving, proceeding through the holiday with a smile and all of my bodily appendages intact, avoiding killing any next of kin, and flying home by myself with the Little Big Guy, I received this comment by the flight attendant of an unnamed airline that might rhyme with Smelta:
"Well, I guess the Little Guy doesn't need a coat in this weather!"

Listen here, Flight Attendant Devil Woman, if you had told me while we were waiting for 45 MINUTES in the gate area that we were going to have to go outside to board the rinky dink ass little plane you were flying us on to New York, I would have put his DAMN COAT ON. But seeing as how you were too busy trying to fit your gargantuan ass behind the ticket counter to notify us of this important detail, I have made the executive decision as the FANF*INGTASTIC mother that I am to subject my poor defenseless infant to the bitter cold for the sake of getting the plane out on time. Now, do you think you could go ahead and open a can of "SHUT THE HELL UP" so we can be airborne shortly?

Thank you and accept my birdie as a compliment to your airline.