Painting Chef - Cheaper Than Therapy

Patrick and I have now been (as expectant parents…we did make a drunk trip a few months ago) to Babies R Us and HOLY SHIT that place is scary. I am now officially petrified about impending motherhood. Can I raise a productive member of society entirely in my womb? I mean, I’ll let him or her tell me who they want to vote for when they’re 18 (unless it’s a Republican and then I’ll deny that such a creature could grow in my body) hell, I’ll even slip them some tequila when they’re 21. But once you get that sucker out into the elements. All KINDS of shit can go wrong.

But I have developed a theory on parenting that was directly influenced by the excursion to Babies R Us. I have decided that if you have enough accessories there is no WAY you can screw this kid up. See, that’s what is wrong with us and people older than us. Their parents had to do all this shit by HAND. There is a tool, gadget, gizmo, and toy for every possible problem you can think of.

We’re talking self-rocking bassinets, baby papsans that wiggle and giggle, high chairs that play music, play pens that vibrate and light up, and swings that will teach French and advanced thermo-dynamics how can I possibly go wrong? I can go BROKE…but not wrong.

Well…I can’t go wrong until I open my mouth and this little squirmy thing quickly learns that I am wholly unfit to be a parent when I am still a child myself. Yeah, shut up, bite me, I’m an almost 28 year old child (gasp) but I still feel like I’m playing HOUSE here. And I’m pretty sure that when you play house with a baby you can’t toss it into the corner when you’re ready to go outside a ride bikes or climb trees. You know, not without some sort of legal ramifications anyway.

And ALSO!! EXCITING!!! She told you so we can now be excited and thrilled and happy happy joy joy because ZUBE GIRL went and got herself knocked up too! And she and I can be pregnant and hormonal and a couple of scary fucking bitches TOGETHER! We’ll be like a super hero duo with bad attitudes and cute shoes!!

In honor of my official high school reunion boycott (which is no longer important because the blessed event was this past Saturday) let’s look at those horrible things called “Senior Superlatives.” Remember this shit? Most Likely to Succeed, Best Looking, Most School Spirit, Most School Service and Biggest Flirt (which could, perhaps, be related…) Basically, it was that one final popularity contest. And no…I didn’t win anything so don’t ask. I was actually nominated for one but seeing as how I trashed that particular one just a brief second ago, it is safe to say that I didn’t garner said honor.

But these Superlatives aren’t helpful. They don’t tell you what the fuck you’re going to be doing in 10 years. I think that if we are going to stick with this stupid tradition then we should at least make them applicable to high school seniors. Here are a few I’ve thought of that would have been a little more telling about MY beloved Farragut High School Class of 1995.

Most Likely to become an internet porn star.

Most Likely to end up pregnant by the drama teacher before the end of the summer.

Most Likely to spend the next 15-20 in a maximum security prison.

Most Likely to have seven ex-wives by the 10 year reunion.

Most Likely to be an E! True Hollywood Story.

Most Likely to become the fall guy for some big corporate accounting fraud.

Most Likely to be that guy that can’t ever quite let go of the “glory days” of high school.

Most Likely to be on a reality show (or two).

Now see…THAT’S more like it. Anyone want to add any?

My dear sweet puppy Belle,

Hello baby. Mommy needs to talk to you. Something has been bothering me lately and with the upcoming addition to our little family, I feel that it is time to get to the bottom of this.

Now you’re a happy puppy, aren’t you? I mean, you are spoiled rotten, mommy and daddy upgraded to a king size bed that you could stretch out more, and you get grilled chicken in your food dish every night. We’ve even taken you to the beach twice this summer. Basically we’ve spoiled you so much that you’ve turned our parenting into a fucking joke and people laugh at us as we make room for you on the couch and heat up your dinner every night.

But as mommy was rushing around to get ready this morning she noticed a horrible scene of carnage. Now I’ve known that this has been going on for awhile now but you collected all your little kills and put them all in one location this morning and suddenly I saw that perhaps an intervention was necessary.

Let’s go over the evidence, shall we?

Exhibit A: Old Puppet and New Puppet

Now I remember how excited you were when you first got Old Puppet and how you carried him around wherever you went. Eventually, Old Puppet was damaged beyond mommy’s rudimentary sewing skills and we had to look for another one. This should be an indication to you of what a lucky lucky girl you are, mommy and daddy looked high and low for this particular toy and FINALLY! We found one! And you were so excited that you promptly ripped through New Puppet’s jaw requiring immediate surgery. Sadly, New Puppet now kind of looks like a train wreck victim with his sideways jaw but you don’t seem to mind too much. He was also victim to a disembowelment.

Exhibit B: Green Dragon

Green Dragon was purchased for you on a whim by your daddy whom you have wrapped around your little paw. He takes you in the shower with him when you start to smell like a foot and you wait for him eagerly every day in the afternoon (daddy, not Green Dragon). You were so happy when he brought you Green Dragon, you bounced around like a fucking crackhead and you immediately embraced Green Dragon, shook him hard and made him your bitch. And then you disemboweled him with great precision and concentration. Mommy has already performed one surgery on Green Dragon which included a drastic weight loss program (sadly the weight loss was for Green Dragon and not for mommy but I digress…) and emergency reparative surgery. However her pathetic little stitches were no match for your teeth and you quickly re-opened his wounds.

Exhibit C: Blue Donkey

This is the beginning of the more grisly of your crimes. Blue Donkey was a Christmas present from mommy’s sister, your Aunt Betsy. All of your family took immediate delight in sticking Blue Donkey through your collar that so that he would sit on your back like he was riding you (in a completely non dirty animal porn kind of way) and we would giggle and laugh and you would prance and think vicious thoughts towards us. Upon reflection, perhaps this was one of the crimes for which you had a motive. Blue Donkey has proved a worthy adversary as it has taken you nearly two years to completely gut him and then remove one ear. Perhaps the better question would be why this ear has been sitting on mommy’s dresser for about 3 months now.

Exhibit D: Purple Elephant

This is by far your most heinous crime to date. Purple Elephant came to you at roughly the same time as Blue Donkey however you were spared the neck riding by this new friend (um…I think…). Purple Elephant was, however, an almost immediate victim of severe shaken elephant syndrome as you would run around like a nutcase with him in your death grasp while shaking the everliving shit out of him. Belle, you do know how to shake it like a Polaroid picture; I’ll give you that one. Purple Elephant was also victim to the same grisly disembowelment that has become you modus operandi however you took this one a step further and beheaded your most recent victim. Now mommy isn’t exactly sure how your little puppy mind works but I think you fancy yourself as some sort of canine mob boss because you keep leaving this severed head in the bed with me every night. Quit that please.

Okay sweetie, now do you see what’s going on here? If you aren’t careful, someone might catch onto the fact that mommy and daddy are harboring a dangerous criminal in their house. Sure, I know, you’re scared shitless of the new 10 week old 2 pound puppy next door and you pee on yourself when you hear fireworks but still…this is out of control baby. Please stop with the killing, do you need more love? Please throw mommy a fucking bone because she’s suddenly really nervous about this whole human baby thing. Just remember Belle, there will be disembowelment of the baby. I’m pretty sure that’s one that even YOU aren’t cute enough to get out of.

Love,
Mommy, Daddy, Luna the Cat, and Project Fetus.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of our friend Crazy Psycho Clomid Wife who left us on approximately July 27th 2005 amidst a very pleasurable experience.

We will remember many things about her fondly. She taught us so many things and brought a great deal of joy to our lives.

Who can forget her gentle lessons on the use of ATMs? Her kind words to her employer in the effort to foster a more pleasant working atmosphere? The whimsical retelling of her DMV experiences? Her experiences with the finer side of grocery shopping? The loving conversations with her husband? And her leisurely morning drives complete with uplifting commentary?

But despair not my children. While yes, this loved one has left us for now, she leaves in her place, one who will bring us much joy and laughter for the months to come. I am speaking of her new earthly incarnation “Whacked-Out Hormonal Knocked Up Wife.”

Please let us welcome Whacked-Out Hormonal Knocked Up Wife to the circus. You may want to keep your distance as she does periodically attack without warning or provocation however if you keep feeding her cake and baked potatoes from a safe distance, you should be alright. We look forward to the many memories to made that we will forever share with Whacked-Out Hormonal Knocked Up Wife and know that without Crazy Psycho Clomid Wife, we would never have had the opportunity to meet this welcome new member of our little sick-ass world.

So what’s new with everyone? In honor of the new school year starting, let’s have sort of a “What I did on my summer vacation” moment. I’ll go first…I GOT PREGNANT.

Okay, that’s about all I can manage right now, I’m still in sort of an alternate universe about the whole thing. Details will be forthcoming.

But no shit people, it actually happened, I’m not completely and totally broken. Its still early yet and I probably shouldn’t even be telling you yet but I am. I’m only about 4 weeks (will confirm at the doctor in the near future) but I peed on that fucker and it was all “damn bitch…you done got knocked up” and shit.

EDIT: The internet just told me that my due date is April 20th. Teehee…4/20. That seemed fitting for a reformed pothead such as myself. The internet also told me I’m 6 weeks, not 4. Interesting…The internet, she knows so much. I figure she must be a woman.

Editing YET AGAIN…see I’ve decided to just add to this one as the day goes on. I’m silly and kicky like that so kiss my knocked up, cake-craving ass.

But anyway…the SHOPPING. The shopping has commenced people! I am one of those superstitious people who thinks you shouldn’t bring anything for the baby into the house until after the first trimester. However, getting by on a technicality, this really is more for ME and PATRICK than the baby, right?