We have a winner! Pixie Mama was oh-so-correct in her guess that these shitacular specimens were my gift from the fecking mother-in-law. One for my birthday and one for Christmas.
The scariest part of all? Bitch paid $99 for the bracelet and $129 for the necklace. No. Fecking. Shit. Peeps. I’m pretty sure that she should be sent to hell immediately just for having such bad taste. I mean, really? Really??!!!
So Pixie Mama will get her prize when I decide what it is. How many of you think that I should send her the shitastic jewelry?
(Insert evil laugh and just a touch of hand-wringing.)
How about we discuss the depression and woe that appears to be rampant in my little bloggy circle? That sounds like fun, no? Shit. I think it makes me extra fecked up that I kind of take pleasure in knowing that everybody else is just as miserable as I am, doesn’t it? Very well then.
Little Man celebrated his 6th birthday on January 2nd. We’re having his party this Saturday at the Tae Kwon Do club. He’s totes excited. He’ll apparently get to cut his cake with a real. live. samurai. sword. Like, totally wow. Seriously, he jumps up and down and oozes jubilation whenever he talks about it. Actually, it’s kind of amazing that he can be so ornery and disgruntled so much of the time (Who fecking knows where he gets that from?) and yet so over-the-top excited just 30 seconds after ranting about the injustices in his world. No, I’m not kidding.
I’ve started a diet (Yes, again, but who’s keeping track?) today and let’s see, it’s 2pm and I haven’t cheated yet. New record, chicklets and doooooodettes. This time I’ve asked my doc to hold me accountable. If I go back to him and I haven’t lost at least 4 pounds in a month, I have to write a cheque to the charity of my choice. So, really, if one were to look at this completely logically, it’d be better if I didn’t lose the weight because a charity would benefit. This said, I would be doing the world a favour by continuiing my life as a beached whale. You know, logically and all…
Little Man’s doing mostly well at school. He’s excelling academically (no surprise, really) and adjusting as well as can be expected in every other way. No, he doesn’t eat a lot, but he eats enough so that I’m not worried that he’s writhing in agony all day from the hunger pains (food obsessed much, Kia?). He pees now, so that’s a plus. He has even made a couple of new little friends who seem quite wonderful. His teacher is truly a godsend and she seems to be handling his perfectionism (that I didn’t even notice, MOTHER OF THE FECKING YEAR!!), well, um, perfectly.
Tae Kwon Do is still going fantabulously and Little Man is due to get his third belt in about 2 weeks. I still can’t believe just how fecking amazing this sport has been for my boy. Wonderful.
So my life, aside from the shitty jewelry from the Joan Rivers home shopping channel collection (No, I’m not fecking yanking your chain. Get it? Chain?), is pretty faboosh, right? Isn’t it? I really have nothing to complain about, right?
Well, let’s just say I’m pretty creative. I’m good at finding things to be miserable about. I’m also very good at making those around me aware of my misery. Poor Hubs. Poor, poor Hubs.
I must go. Little Man has just fired me. Again. I must escape the house before I am re-hired. And yes, unfortunately, that happens. The re-hiring bit. Shit.
Kia



















