Tuesday, September 23, 2008
the chunky munkey is tasting pretty funky
Chunky Munkey. Ben & Jerry's. Gotta love it.

But not if they decide to humor THIS SUGGESTION.

Human Breast Milk?! In my FOOD? blaaaaaah!!!!! And PETA says it's horrible dairy conditions for cows.

Seriously. Imagine if Ben & Jerry's really did go for this idea. Can you imagine the new dairy farms that would have to go into production to keep up with the supply needed for Phish Food?! Wow! The visual is ASTOUNDING! I have this image of women sitting in individual stalls hooked up to the milking machines watching Oprah all day long with vacant expressions as they chew gum.

I don't think it's gonna happen.


I got an e-mail from the host of Blogtations. She used a quote of mine and made it into a youtube video along with some other funny quotes!

I'm FAMOUS! Here's a link to her awesome youtube creation. GO WATCH IT!
posted by Norman at 7:25 PM | Permalink | 3 comments
Sunday, September 21, 2008
How did this happen, I wonder?
Mind you....I'm not bitching (for once). But let me tell you, the scale is NOT my friend. I'm heavier than I'd like to be, I wish I was still the svelte 105 I weighed back in high school, but hey- that's all wishes and fishes or however that saying goes.

But 20 years and three kids later, I find a minor battle going on. I can honestly say that I really do look better than some 20-ish people out there, but I'm not happy with myself, if that makes sense.

About 3 months ago, I stepped on the scale and was horrified to see that I weighed what I did when I was 6 months pregnant with Ethan. So I haven't gotten on the scale since. Sinking into a depression, I did nothing to help myself. No yoga. No pilates, no jogging, no walking, no running, no dieting.... I'm mean - honestly, what's the point? If I can't lose weight trying to chase 3 small children, NOTHING is gonna work.

Yesterday, my mom told me she thought I was looking good, and two of my coworkers asked me last week where I worked out.


What's up with that?

So this morning, I got on the scale.


I am 10 pounds from my "happy weight" of 125. I was 20 away 3 months ago.

Suddenly, I feel like maybe I can rush it off by walking or jogging or yoga-ing (if i knew how to yoga).

My husband, relieved not to have to answer the "Do I look fat in this?" daily question, wants to buy the Wii Fit so we can play together and actually work out at the same time.

Now, I'm not complaining, but where did the weight go?
posted by Norman at 6:26 PM | Permalink | 4 comments
Monday, September 15, 2008
It's one of the reasons why I love her so.
My 3 year old. A study in honesty. For the most part. Before I get to the funny part, let me give you some background.

I hate it when my husband takes a dump. (yes. for those of you with weak stomachs...yes... this IS a shit post). It's horrid, nasty, foul....it's beyond human comprehension to understand the stench. It's so bad that when we buy houses, I insist that one of the MUST HAVE features is a "man-bathroom". This is the bathroom into which he is allowed to dump. Because if he uses the others, they need to be cleaned with napalm. It's horrid. I'm not lying. I also submit that everytime he craps, it causes the toilet to clog. I don't think it's an issue of bad plumbing. I think it's an issue of the toilet refusing to accept what he made. I think the city sewer system seizes up when he settles down on the throne. That's how bad it is.

He thinks I'm exaggerating. I'm not. I've been married to him for 11 years. I pull no punches on how nasty his shit is. We go back and forth in little tiffs here and there about how unreasonable it is for me to insist he poops in the man-room only. I agree with him, it IS unreasonable, but it will remain my law.

We've pretty much settled into a routine now, where he is resigned to the fact that he is banished to the man-room to do his nasty business, and we've got a plunger parked in there for him to force feed the toilet when it gags. I do my part by not bitching about how nasty that bathroom smells.

So on to Avery.

She came flying down the stairs and announced that she had to pee. Bad. And she scampered off into the bathroom. Unknowingly -- or else I would have nabbed her-- my man had offloaded about an hour ago. When she flung herself into the bathroom, she was immediately flung backwards by an invisible wall of stink.


When a THREE year old is repelled by an odor - that oughta tell you how very bad it is. She wobbled into the living room and encountered my husband. "Daddy" she mumbled "whats that smell?" "Oh." he said, glancing my way... (i ducked my head to hide a smirk) "I guess I went potty."

"oh" said Avery

"Daddy? You sick?"


"Daddy, when you get big, how come the poopoo smells like that? It's yuck." and then....

she threw up.

I love her so.

Not because she threw up.

But because it made my husband realize that maybe, just maybe...his shit is nuclear.


A battle that has lasted 11 frickin' years has been chalked up to ME WINNING!


**ok. Explanation here. This is the best post I can punch out right now. I had to work all weekend long and pulled in 24 hours of overtime on saturday and sunday alone. I'm scheduled to work all week from 7am to 7pm to help out the people who are calling in claims for Hurricane Ike. I'm tired. And if I hear one more call from people whining that they have a frickin' DOOR DING on their Jag and they want to get it repaired before the HURRICANE people start blocking up the repair shops, I'm gonna scream. (and yes - that's an exact quote from one of our insureds who has absolutely NO COMPASSION for people who just lost their homes.) What an ass.
posted by Norman at 7:25 PM | Permalink | 6 comments
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