We’ve all heard it before. Pet ownership can have many benefits for people, including reduction in stress. I believe it to be true, for the most part.

Greeting from my beautiful pit bull, Briggs; her tail wagging wholeheartedly, whipping the walls as she waits patiently (as possible) to smother us in kisses is a wonderful way to end a stressful day at work. Her warm kisses and gentle nuzzling are very much welcomed as we sit down together after evening chores are complete.
Life without pets is just not the same to me. The unconditional love, even on the bitchiest of days; their complete and udder lack for the ability to judge us bodes well on the days I decide to let Carter sit in front of the TV with a box of Corn Pops while I read USWeekly. (Don’t judge. It’s only happened once a couple times. )
Even Connor (the cat) has his affectionate moments, when he’s not scared shitless of his own shadow; he will jump up on the desk for some belly rubs as I read blogs. After his futile attempts at suffocating me in my sleep with his fat ass, he curls up at the end of the bed at night. It’s enough to make your heart melt.

Where am I going with this you wonder.

Were all the facts considered while conducting these studies? I don’t think so because their judgments are slightly skewed considering the tremendous stress and anxiety I endure trying to take these animals to the vet.

Hunting down Connor has become a two day event in preparation for his yearly visit. The cat box comes out the night before so he can investigate. Check it out for traps and poison. After he’s given it the all clear, he’ll embark on the task of cramming his fat ass in. He’ll turn, ever so slightly trying to keep even a whisker from touching the side of the box. Once his attempts are foiled by his fat ass, he slowly backs out of the crate and bolts like there’s a chance I’m going to strap him in there and hang him as bait in front of cat hating rabid dogs.

The next morning, I walk around the house meowing like a cat, which sounds vaguely similar to the raccoon fight in my backyard last summer that woke me from a deep sleep; as I’m calling his name I’m cursing him to no end. Most times he will appear, maybe I sound like a cat in heat to him; I dunno. This cat is a boarder line circus freak. A pet store special. He’s so inbred, he doesn’t know his ass from his head most days. I love him so.
If all else fails, I can usually find him huddled in the farthest corner beneath the bed in the spare room. Nothing can coax that fat bastard out like a bowl of dry cat food shaken slightly in a metal bowl. He’s then crammed into the cat carrier, ass first so he doesn’t have to endure the ride trying to turn around. Thoughtful, I know.

The dog. She loves the vet. So much so as soon as we pull down his road she’s bounding all over the back like her ass is on fire. Crying, panting and jumping at the window hoping that, just once, if she hits the glass at the right angle it will set her free. She bounces, whimpers and whines as we walk through the door, gasping for air since she’s tugged her collar so tight, which doesn’t phase her in the slightest, as she makes a bee line for the reception.

What’s so bad about this you say? Well, throw in an 18 month old toddler who turns in to a blubbering mess because he wants to hold the carrier and the dog’s leash; all the while getting into everything in sight. Carter’s to the point where putting him in a stroller is like subjecting him to a straight jacket. (Which I’ve never thought about doing. Not even once.)

Where’s his father? Sitting on his ass reading a fucking magazine.

As Briggs is trying to sniff the ass of the chocolate lab, Carter is running in behind the reception desk and the cat is shaking the shit out of the carrier. I see Mike out of the corner of my eye, reading this fuckin’ magazine; not a care in the world. My lasers of death searing a hole through his temple don’t even phase him. I politely (as possible) say. “Mike? A little help?” His gaze meets mine. “What? What do you need help with?”

Nothing asshole, just wanted you to critique my ability to balance awkwardly on one foot as the cat shakes the shit out of my arm, the dog pulls in the other direction, and I try to corral our child who’s embarked on his own little journey.

Men. I wish life was always as simple as theirs.

Since returning from Maternity Leave I’ve been running off my feet on a daily basis. Before you get your panties in a knot, this is not a pitty post. I work for a living, that’s my life, I accept it. But dammit, it’s trying on good days.

Today is a day for me; a mental health day; though one day will not change my mental state, it’s a start. Gawd knows, one day is not enough; more like a padded cell and a frontal lobotomy to fix this bitch.
Things have slowed at work as I am in the midst of changing positions and I decided that today, I would stay home. Alone. Do what I want for a change. And so far, I haven’t done a damn thing. Sweet and utter bliss I tell you.

Carter and I got up at normal time, I shipped him off to daycare, and here I sit. I’ve taken a leisurely shower, taken time to apply my make-up, straightened my hair… all to sit here and blog. Do I give a damn? Nope. I haven’t washed any dishes, I haven’t cleaned anything. I am sitting here on my fat ass, eating a Twix and reading blogs that I’ve been so far behind on, and it feels great. You’re so damn jealous right now; your jealous envy is oozing through my computer screen. Don’t hate the player, hate the game, beotches.

And with that, I leave you with this.

What Every Girl Should Know

Spring. That time of year where we anticipate new beginnings, a fresh start, a clean slate. The days are longer, everyone’s (relatively) happier that the cold, dreary days of winter are behind us; and there are signs of life trickling into the streets again.

It’s also, I find, a time to reflect on myself. I always find that spring brings me to where I dredge up old memories of past loves and friendships that have gone awry. It happens every spring; I seem to cogitate past relationships, friends that I’ve grown from.

Do aspects of new friendship emulate past ones? What could I have done differently? Have I changed in how I perceive my friendships? What is so different about Mike that made him the one?

Am I sad to see old friendship fall apart? Yes. Absolutely. Most of them. But I can say that I’ve grown from it; and looking back at some of them, I realize that they should have fell apart long before they actually did. Some boyfriends that I thought were the one, definitely were not; some that I didn’t give much thought to and were just for fun *wink, wink* at the time, just may have been.

I received a wedding announcement the other day from a person that was a big part of my life through elementary school. We were absolutely inseparable; considered ourselves sisters. But throughout the years, we drifted. We had different friends in high school and in our final years, didn’t even talk to each other anymore. Sad. But life. I haven’t spoken to her in about five years. I heard through a mutual friend that she was getting married. I was happy for her, but not like you should be for a girlfriend.
When I saw that marriage announcement I felt worse about how everything had ended between us. She looks great, physically. But there’s something about her face. She looks lost, miserable, changed. Neither of them are smiling and it’s a dreary December day. I hope she’s happier then the image reflects. But will I ever know? Probably not.

It the worst feeling when you just fall out of friendship with someone. It’s not provoked. No fight, no mutual decision not to be friends. Conversations dwindle to the point where they are not your “go to” person anymore and then eventually, you don’t talk at all. You don’t even realize it’s happened until the friendship is so far gone you’re not sure where to pick it up again, or if you should even try.

Life is funny that way.

I did it too. For shits and giggles.

I’m at work, on lunch and wanted to kill some time. Apparently, I’m awesomer then I thought! Who knew?

Read my VisualDNAâ„¢ Get your own VisualDNAâ„¢

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Like the new template? I’m trying out new things, so if you have a suggestion or a comment, please speak up!Also, check out temptation designs There’s great deals to be had for Blogger designs for the month of April!!

I’d like to thank the ladies that never warned me about the effects of child birth on your ta-tas; thanks. Had I known, that once giving birth and nursing was complete, I would be left with these hideous boobs that look like oranges hangin’ out in tube socks… I would have considered saving money for a boob job prior to getting knocked up; then I’d have new boobs already and not these.
Nevertheless, keeping these puppies rolled up and tucked away in a bra has been fun, they tend to have a mind of their own. Every time I bend over to do something they seem to migrate out the top of my bra requiring me to be constantly adjusting. I play with myself almost as much as a man touches his dick!
I’ve tried just about every bra on the market. Different sizes, different straps, different everything.

What haven’t I tried?

New boobs!

Please, send money.

The only thing that I am even more tired of seeing(besides my saggingorangeinsockboobs)?

Man boobs.

The weather is getting warmer, t-shirts tighter, and the MAN boobs are coming out *cringe* I think I saw about four men with boob big enough I could cup one in both my hands. I’m talkin’ full on boobs here!

Speaking of boobs.
Anna Nicole Smith? Accidental Overdose? Dude, am I the only one that saw THIS?

I got bitch slapped.

Ever feel like just kicking someone in the throat because? I’ve been having one of those months days. No one in particular. Just everyone. Watch out, I’ll mess you up muthafucka!

It’s not you. It’s me.

Every time someone asks me a question, I wanna ram my pen up their ass.

If they so much as question something I am working on, or finished, I feel like slamming their head on the table, then kneeing them in the throat and kicking them repeatedly as they stare up at me with tear stained cheeks and beg me to stop.
Every time Mike asks me what’s for dinner? I want to shove his head in the stove after I’ve ripped it from his body with the help of a spoon.

I want to stand on my desk and scream at everyone.

“FUCK YOU!!! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

Am I PMSing? Nah. Not this week. Just in a generally bitchy mood.

Gimme some chocolate – me love you long time…
Or you can go fuck yourself too.

Fashionably late to a party, I like to make an entrance *ahem*

I was memed again by Haley, finally the Real Mom meme!

Real Moms Have Fun at Their Child’s Expense

What good are children if you can’t have fun at their expense?

Like letting them try and maneuver under the coffee tableDressing them like an Oompa Loompa

Shoving them in flower pots
The latest trick – putting tape all over him and watch him try to get free.

When I am an old lady and in need of diaper changes and someone to wipe food off my face, Karma is going to get me – BAD.So, I think I’m one of the last ones… I tag everyone else!

Exhaustion has sent in. I think I’ve actually overextended myself to the point where my body has decided to defy my requests to function.

Yesterday at work I was overcome with dizziness and couldn’t stop yawning; I pushed through the entire day only to crash on the floor at 8pm after bingeing on enough Swiss Chalet to actually be overwhelmed with the desire to purge everything (it’s a run-on and I like it that way). Yes, I crashed on the floor since Mike had staked his claim to the couch as he does every (Friday) night.
I was able to overlook his selfishness, as he let me sleep until 9:30 this morning! Glorious 9:30. I was in heaven. I haven’t slept for 13.5 consecutive hours in nearly 3 years. What an absolute blessing that was; and I’m ready to head back to bed for a nap right now.

I utterly love sleep. I crave it all the time. I think about it incessantly. Disturbing me from my peaceful slumber is considered worthy of death by incessant nagging and bitching for the remainder of the day. Ask my husband. I am not someone that can force out of bed, against my will, then function in a pleasant and peaceful manner.

And for that reason, I don’t know why I had a child; I knew that once it arrived I would be forced to forgo sleep as well as be awaken forcefully by a little being who would inevitably wake with the rising of the sun.
Who I was kidding when I actually thought that Carter would play peacefully in his crib until I was ready to get up and face the day? Once he’s awake, it’s for good. If I attempt to catch a few more minutes of sleep, it’s disturbed by the crib banging against the wall as he jumps up and down screaming “Maaaaaaa!“.

Yesterday morning, as I fought off utter exhaustion, I was awaken in regular fashion. Shrills and screams. I dragged my ass into his room, with bottle in hand. While rubbing sleep from my half open eyes I cursed him for being an early riser, like his father. I walked into the room to see him holding the baby monitor to his mouth and screaming “Maaaaaaaa!” (We haven’t used that thing as a monitor in ages; it’s a globe that also lights up so we use it for a night light).

He smiled as he diverted his gaze from the glowing globe, which had fallen to the ground, and said, “Hi Ma-ma!” with arms outstretched.

He doesn’t get his morning charm from me, that’s for sure; but it’s enough to transform me from an utterly hateful bitch into just a regular catty bitch.