Back-ordered Baby

So here we are on Thursday, about 36 hours AFTER when Baby should have made her appearance and have we seen said baby? Not hide nor hair. And why? You may ask. (Let's assume that you DID ask, because otherwise I will have to come up with a new blog topic.)

Because there were 19 babies swimming down stream yesterday. 19 of them. And the day before that there were 17! Do you know what that means? It means people in this neighborhood can't keep their damn pants on, that's what it means.

What it also means is that today's post, which was meant to feature adorable newborn squishiness is RUINED. Thanks a lot, humping neighbors. Do I ask you not to park 3 cars on your lawn? No. Do I ask you not to play polka music at top volume at 3 am? NO. Do I even ask you to take down your Christmas lights by September? Of course not. The ONE little thing I needed, a blog topic that doesn't involve my boobs in anyway and you fuck that up for me.

Thanks a lot. Just for that, I'm going to have to post a picture of my boobs on the internet again.


See what you've made me do?

Can one of you helpful invisible internet type people explain to me why it is so damn hard to find a good tee shirt? one that doesn't make me look boxy, lumpy or vulgar? Seriously. I thought I'd found it at Old Navy this weekend in their "perfect fit" tee shirt and since it was only $5 I bought several of them. So then, I check myself in the mirror the other morning and I think, "HEY! This IS a perfect tee shirt! I LOVES IT!" and go to work. But first, I stop at QT for my vat of ice tea because hello, Mama needs her caffeine, and the construction workers were all very solicitous and that was nice and even the ones that weren't directly at eye level with my boobs smiled at my in an only mildly leering fashion and so I go on about my merry way, all day, wandering around in this tee shirt and then, at like 5 pm, I catch a glance at myself in fluorescent lighting and HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL that shirt? It's not opaque. You can see the Twins right through it. And I'm all NO WONDER that guy stuck $5 in my pants!

So I went and bought another tee shirt. What can I say? Work what the good Lord gave you...

PS. Don't forget to go enter the contest!

Like Schnitzel with Noodles, only BETTER.

Hiya Chickens!


Guess what I'm doing today! You'll never guess. GUESS! Why aren't you guessing? Don't you like guessing games with random answers? No? Okay, fine, I'll tell you. I'm sitting around waiting for my friend to extrude her womb fruit! Doesn't that sound fun? I mean really, what's NOT fun about watching something the size of a grape fruit try and shove itself out of a hole the size of a lemon? nothing that's what. Unless, I suppose it's your own personal hoo-ha that's being torn asunder by a little bald headed parasite. However, in this case, it's not my hoo-ha, I just get to take the day off work. So, you know, win for me!

So I thought, in honor of the expulsion of wee Gianna from her uterine playground, we'd play a little game! Doesn't that sound like fun? I know! Now, I know y'all are used to getting alcoholic prizes from me, but I thought we'd mix it up. Call it my own little Oprah's favorite things. Only, you know, Oprah is still caged up in my basement and I can't afford to hand out a car, so it's Thystle's Favorite Things. Almost as good, but much less classy. Like me!

And there's only two things being given away. Because I'm cheap like that. But that does mean that there will be two winners ! Hooray for winning shit!

Prize number one is a flowered hair clip. These things are starting to pop up all over and I predict they're going to be big this year.





Prize number two is an adjustable cocktail ring. Those of you that have been around the Thystle Patch for a while may recall that last year at this time, I vowed to bring cocktail rings back into fashion. So I used my powers for world domination instead of mayhem for a bit and bada BLING they're everywhere this season! Score yours!

Now for the part where I see just what y'all are willing to do to get a prize! Email a naked picture of yourself, posing with a garden gnome, a bottle of red wine and a....JUST KIDDING. Gosh, relax. There are somethings I just don't need to know about you. Like that you have three nipples or your middle name is Herman. Things like that. Also, I don't need to know that once, in third grade, you puked in the parka hood of at that little boy that was mean to you all the time. Actually, I take that back, I totally want to know stuff like that about you. In fact, that will be next weeks Favorite Thing contest question! Remind me next week, okay?

Now I've lost the plot entirely....oh yes! For this week's contest, in the comment section leave your prediction for what next years MUST HAVE item is going to be. It can be anything. On Friday, I'll draw two names at random from the submissions and announce the winner.

Not to leave the male readers out (either one of you), should a man be selected (or I suppose should the selected winner prefer) then something manly will be substituted. What this manly thing might be will just have to be a surprise, but it will probably come from Home Depot or Best Buy or some other place that manly men shop. I'll have to ask a manly man where that might be should the occasion present itself, because I'm not a very manly girl. Except for the gun. And the truck. And, you know, my vast collection of porn.

Of Course I am

M: Is an oral surgeon some who does surgery on genetalia?

Me: What the hell are you talking about?

M: Oral surgeons? You know like oral sex? Only surgery? See? "House" confronts an oral surgeon....

Me: (laughing)

M: I'm wrong aren't I?

Me: (laughing, harder)

M: (resigned) you're going to blog this, aren't you?

Wearing Vampire Fangs

Right, so this weekend.

Mostly, I took a nap. Like, for the whole weekend. To the point that on Friday, I didn't even put on pants until like 5pm. For real. That's like, some kind of record or something. If it's not, it should be.

Now, WHY did I take a nap for the weekend?

Because I'm depressed, chickens. For reals, even. Not like OMG I'M SO GOING TO KILL MYSELF WHILE I LISTEN TO COLDPLAY AND STARE AT MY EDWARD CULLEN POSTER depressed, but like, bummed. Out of sorts, one might say. And by "one" I mean my Gram, because that's the kind of thing she says. She also says "Lord Love a Duck" which has nothing to do with anything it's just cute, so I thought I'd tell you. But back to me? I'm depressed in the way that means you stand staring at your closet, and then walk away still wearing your pajama's because the prospect of a shirt? JUST TOO DAUNTING. Lucky for me, I work at a job wear no one would bat an eye if I came in wearing a bunny costume, vampire fangs and roller skates. Which, lets be honest, would really be kind of awesome. Like Bunnicula goes to Xanadu. True story, I used to know a girl named "Xanadu". She was a slut. I don't know if that's related to being named after a rollerskating musical, but it could be. Best that those of you expecting to spawn soon keep it in mind, just in case.

Anyway, there's some crapola potentially, maybe, possibly about to be, going down in my world. Nothing major, just, you know, craptastic. Also, it's nothing I can really talk about here, on the interwebs. But if I COULD talk about it, I'd say that if you happen to have advanced knowledge of this weeks winning Powerball numbers I'd totally cut you in because otherwise I might need to borrow some of your old clothes to hang out in soup lines and at freeway on ramps and places.

I'll be fine, I promise, but just for today, I'm going to sulk a bit.

And take a nap.

Right next to the TV remote and a Dorrito

I had this whole good blog post planned in my head like a half hour ago, but then, I dropped my birth control pill and spent 30 minutes crawling around on the floor, moving trash cans and cabinets and stacks of paper and when I finally gave up, I found it.

In my bra.

So maybe I'll post later, if I remember it, but if not;

Happy Turkey Day, y'all!

If loving fat is wrong, I don't want to be right,

Bet you thought I wasn't going to post today? Well, I'm really not. I just wanted y'all to see this.

The 10 Unhealthiest Holiday Foods - 10 - MSN Health & Fitness - Nutrition Slide Show

Talk about a bunch of fun-sucks. They list like every single tasty food. So scoot down, because I'm going to need your part of the couch too according to MSN.

But it will be SO worth it.

In which I whine

Hiya Chickens.

I don't feel so terrifical. My tummy hurts still. Even though I spent all weekend on the couch drunk...(that was a typo, but I left it because it's funny even though what I MEANT was "drinking 7-up"). I blame the damn kid for my current case of infirmity. Can I just give you all a tip? Puking when you can't open your mouth more than 1"? VERY HORROR MOVIE. Seriously, the puke spews like a fire hose.

So if anyone wants to come and clean my bathroom, raise your hand.

What? None of you do? Fine. Doesn't matter, I did it myself already.

That was the only thing I did though and it took me all four of the hours I was awake yesterday to do it because I kept having to lay down in the shower and rest. Showers? Less comfortable than bathtubs. But jumbo Costco sized bottles of shampoo do make pretty good pillows, should you ever find yourself in need. Eventually, I did get it cleaned up, and have managed not to make a mess of it again. Except, can I just ask y'all WHY is it my husband always feels the need to shave/give himself a hair cut THE VERY MINUTE I finish cleaning the bathroom. Seriously, what is it about a clean sink that says "PLEASE fill me with thousands of teensy little hairs?" Very poor form. Good thing I'm saving for a maid. It's probably cheaper than a divorce. Although I hear murder-for-hire is getting more reasonable due to the weakening economy. Do you suppose hired killers have lay-away? I should call and ask.

No, that would be wrong. Hi, government blog monitoring people! I'm just kidding! Har-har?

Also not awesome, I have a houseful for the holidays. For whom I will be cooking and I HATE to cook. I tried to talk them into going out, but NO, some people believe in a beautiful family holiday in which the mom slaves away over the stove for 39 hours and then sits down to cold turkey because she was busy refilling the gravy.

While I slept for 20 hours on Saturday, the pig hunters (actually, they're javalina's which are peccaries, not pigs, but they look like pigs and anyway, WHO GIVES A SHIT, not me and now I've totally typed a big ass aside and lost the plot entirely. Where ways I? Oh yeah), no laundry was done, no floors were mopped, no carpets were shampooed, nothing was dusted, no clutter was cleared away and no grocery shopping was done. The dogs are pretty down with that last bit though, because they got hot dogs (including buns) for breakfast since we were out of dog food.

And now? I'm a work.

I needs a hug too, gratuitously adorable puppy.