The One with SMF and Cassie Talking to Each Other

Since you heartless bloggers have no emotions and could care less about hearfelt entries (except you Polli!) I'll give you what you came here to get. Pointless Toilet Humor!!!! Woo hoo!

LEGAL NOTICE: These are actual conversations. Any intent to take quotes out of context or misquote certain speakers due to lack of electronic recording devices is entirely purposeful. The author does not consider this libel and therefore sex cannot be witheld as some sort of punishment (that means YOU Special!). In all fairness to the speakers, these conversations have been recorded since March 1, 2007 and oftentimes speakers were unaware notes were being taken. In other words, these are authentic twenty-somethings in their natural habitats.

It is now time for another edition of:

WHAT ROMANCE SOUNDS LIKE

Special Man Friend: I need a rub-down.
ME (The Stunningly Gorgeous, Cassie Blaine) : Oh yeah?
SMF: With oils….
ME: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! Sorry. I just got this image of you sliding around the room like a greased pig!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
SMF: And you call ME the unromantic one.



ME: Look! My hair is almost long enough to censor explicit materials!
SMF: So many ways to go...so little brain power to figure out which one to choose!
ME: That could be due to the fact that all the blood has drained out of your head because you won't quit staring at my explicit materials.



ME: I wonder if our parents and the church would let us live together because it’s cheaper.
SMF: Probably not.
ME: What if we told them it was a TWO bedroom apartment.
SMF: Try it. See what happens.
ME: So basically the only way we could live together is if we had cool parents and we were heathen.
SMF: Basically.



ME: What should I call your apartment in my blog?
SMF: “The Apartment”?
ME: That's poetic! [pause] Well, what do you call my dorm in your blog?
SMF: The All-Girls Dorm Where the Panties-Only Tickle Fights Start Promptly at 9.
ME: That sounds like a porn title!
SMF: Not really, it’s too long. If it were a porno it would be Nasty Christian Co-eds in Panties or something.
ME: At least that’s more ACCURATE!
SMF: Now there’s some images for the Spank Bank!



SMF: Know why non-Christian guys attend Christian schools?
ME: Why?
SMF: Cuz good Christian girls drop their panties faster than bad secular girls do.



ME: I wonder if anyone has ever used Glamour Shots for their passport photo.
SMF: Is that REALLY what you think about?!?



SMF: How were the Kindergartners today?
ME: Well, we worked on the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.
SMF: Oh, yeah? How’d that go?
ME: Well we got as far as identifying the main characters…Sha-shack, Mee-mack and Abiggo.
SMF: That’s pretty good!
ME: You’ll know I’ve completely lost my mind if I EVER say I want to be a teacher. Don’t ask any questions, just put me in a home and get remarried.



ME: Now really, what do you want your apartment to be called?
SMF: It’s your blog, you make something up.
SMF’S ROOMATE: How about ‘The LoveShack’
SMF: Yeah! Or ‘The Rumba Room’
SMFR: Or ‘The Lair of the Horizontal-Mambo Masters”.
SMF: ‘The Virginity Depository’!!
ME: Alright! So...'Romper Room' it is.



SMF: I really wish you’d change my character name on your blog. It sounds like I’m Special because I have Special Needs or something.
ME: You mean you don’t?!?



ME: Know why good Christian girls attend Christian schools??
SMF: Why?
ME: Because NO ONE drops their panties faster than a good Christian boy!
SMF: I suppose that makes ME exhibit A.



SMF: I’ve decided I don’t like wearing boxers with my scrubs.
ME: Oh yeah?
SMF: Yeah. Things bounce around too much.
ME: Sounds painful.
SMF: It’s not too bad until about the tenth time in a week, you’re standing behind a chair, you turn to do something and it ‘bounces’ into the back of the chair.
ME: [looking up from book] It took you ten times to figure this out?!?



ME: So was that our first real fight?
SMF: No. We’ve had worse ones than that.
ME: Nuh uh! When?!?
SMF: How bout when you were in Maine?
ME: That doesn’t count!! I was too drunk to know we were fighting.
SMF: AH-HA!!! I win! I win! I win! I win!!!!
ME: Win what?!?
SMF: We were fighting about whether or not you were drunk and right now you just admitted you were! I WIN!!!
ME: You lead a sad, sad life.



ME: Help me review for Research Methods.
SMF: Sure. [taking notebook] Name two benefits of conducting survey research.
ME: It’s cheap and easy!
SMF: There’s a ‘Yo Mama’ joke in there somewhere.



ME: [sobbing so hard over the phone I can’t talk]
SMF: Are you PMS-ing?
ME: [screaming into phone] NO!!!!! YOU ASS!!!!
SMF: Are you hormonal?
ME: [laughing hysterically] HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! No!!! I feel fine.
SMF: Are you emotional because I have somehow managed to ruin your day even though I have been asleep and haven’t actually spoken to you for six hours?
ME: [back to sobbing] YES!!!
SMF: Okay. I’m just trying to figure out which part of the script I should skip to.....here we go, “I love you so much. I’m so sorry that I haven’t been able to be there for you. How can I make you feel better?”
ME: Yer lucky yer cute. It’s the only thing that keeps me from suffocating you in your sleep.



SMF: UNROMANTIC?!?!? Fine! Next time I’ll just write you a note about how much I wanna stick it in you!!!
ME: That’s all I’m asking for!!!! My kinda romance...
SMF: [silence] Who ARE you?!?



SMF: The ‘Romper Room’ huh? Wanna go for a little romp right now?? [wink]
ME: Nope, but your right hand looks a little lonely.
SMF: That greedy bastard! We already romped this morning in the shower! [walking into kitchen]
ME: Babe, while you’re in there, would you put “shower shoes” on my shopping list.



ME: By the way, HOW THE HELL DO YOU BANG IT INTO CHAIRS?!?
SMF: It just happens!!!
ME: And you’re worried that your blog name makes you look like you have Special Needs!

The One where I Just Ramble While I Work Things Out

I just got off the phone with my older step-sister. We talked for an hour. This is huge....HUGE!!! We have never talked that long. Even if you put the two of us in the same room and held a gun to our heads, we would STILL have to work at filling an hour of time. In the psychology world we call this a "breakthrough".

My step-sister and I found ourselves living under the same roof when her father and my mother decided to get married. Her Tragedy Timeline is a bit different, but for me my parents' divorce was finalized on my eighth birthday (Literally. My father was served the papers for signature right as I blew out my candles) and each parent was remarried to a different person before my ninth birthday (Mom was Jan 13 and Dad was Jan 31...I stood up in both). It was a helluva year for this little broken hearted girl. Moving on...

My step-father was (is) a 'good' Evangelical which means he's white, he believes in "spare the rod, spoil the child", and votes Republican.....always, forever and ever amen. My father was (is) a narcissistic, immature man that was (is) unable to relate to anyone outside of his head...aka young, heartbroken daughters. Both men were (are) angry. Both men felt (feel) slighted. Both men were born without the 'compassion' and 'empathy' chips. And mostly, both men were (are) inept at raising children.

Que Serra, Serra. Too bad, so sad. Get over it and move on, right? Nope....not for girls. For some reason, little girls have been designed to be almost completely dependent on their fathers in order to form healthy and coherent self-images. (I'm not making this up, pick up ANY psych book printed since 1990. This is cold hard fact. Girls need Dads. Plain and simple.)

So suddenly here were two little girls only nine months apart now forced to relate to one another as sisters. In the Blaine household, the word "step" was NEVER to be uttered. Not in reference to siblings and especially not in reference to parents. As for the other halves of our families that we were no longer to identify ourselves with....well, I didn't have a Dad and a step-dad, I now had a Dad and an "Other" Dad (referring to the man who had been with my Mother the day I came home from the hospital). Amanda (older step-sis) didn't have a mother and a step-mother, she had a Mom and an "Other Mom" (referring to the woman who carried her for nine months and spent 19 hours in labor with her). That was our new life. We were to like it. We were to move on. (Apparently The Brady Bunch seemed like a realistic standard for my parents.)

So fast forward for a bit. Mandy will be finished with grad school in May. She has had a 4.0 GPA since they first start figuring out GPA's in middle school. Her younger sister is the social butterfly. I'm smart, but I'm pretty, I flirt and I enjoy the attention of guys. (Do you see where this is going?) Our parents ALWAYS compared us to each other. "Why can't you settle down and get good grades like your sister?"; "Why don't you have as many friends as your sister?"; "You are never going to achieve the things your sister will."; "You need to be more like your sister."

Needless to say. We decided to manage our heartache in different ways as we got older. Mandy became the youngest, full-time, college level debate coach in the history of Large State University. Cassie became the partying, drinking, teenage mother and placed her baby for adoption. Cassie flitted from one relationship to another without so much as an emotional scratch and Mandy fell in love with her high school sweetheart, broke up with him when he left for college and hasn't forgiven herself since. Mandy decided that she couldn't the attention of her father with her grades and since he never told her she was pretty, she started eating and doubled her weight in 3 years time. Cassie decided that she couldn't get the attention of her father with her grades and since he never told her she was pretty, she started having one night stands at the age of 16. Here's the story of two lovely ladies...

Where am I going with this? Well just today I had a one hour conversation with Amanda when she called telling me that she thought she was losing her mind because she finally contacted that long lost high school sweetheart that she hasn't moved on from.

Over the course of this hour I was able to tell her how beautiful, strong, capable, incredible, lovable, courageous, independent, and faithful she is. She cried. I cried. Her heart was so happy to finally hear all the things she needed to hear as a little girl. I didn't lie to her! She is all of those things....and MORE!! I just wish she could see that. (I wish we both could see who we truly are.)
There is still a grieving, scared, heart broken little girl inside both of us. Lame? Maybe. The truth? Absolutely. And you know what, I have learned that there is a grieving, scared, heart broken little girl inside some of the most beautiful, strongest, most capable, incredible, lovable, courageous, independent, and faithful women I know.

I realize now that because of all I've been through and have been able to overcome, I now have a burden for these women. I want to find every hurting, unloved, scared, abused and discarded woman in the world and let her know that she is precious. She is so indcredibly amazing merely because.....she is a woman!








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UPDATE: At the time of publication (aka the moment I pushed the Publish button), my Mother called having a melt-down about things going on in HER life. Screw the 'I want to find hurting women' scenario. I'm just gonna get my Master's in Counseling Psych and start charging my family $100 an hour. I'll be a millionaire before I'm 30.

The One where I Can't Stop Talking About T & A

Way back when....in a different lifetime, I used to "do time behind the rail" at a family member's local establishment. It started with me learning how to assist the bartender (aka 'bar back') which essentially meant I tapped kegs, filled pints, washed glasses, delivered orders, and got screwed out of my rightful tips. Eventually I was allowed to "set 'em up" for drunk, unruly pricks that bellowed and elbowed their buddies when they thought they got a sneak peek down my shirt. *sigh* I certainly don't miss those nights. However, I DO miss the money! Luckily, every once and a while my uncle calls me up when he needs some extra help. (He pretends to ignore the fact that my license might be expired and I look the other way while he pays my hourly in cash, possibly off the books. He's Italian, what can I say?)

So guess what day it is on Saturday??? And guess who's earning some big bucks helping out a family member???? You got it! Yours truly is going to shimmy into some cute jeans, wrap some green mardis gras beads around my neck, plaster a smile on my face, and listen to inebriated guys attempt to sweep me off my feet with comments like, "Hey, nice rack!" or "Those titties real baby?" (WOO HOO!!! Yay for me.)

In all seriousness though, St. Patrick's Day is the WORST day to be a female bartender. The tips are phenomenal but the atmosphere is less than stellar. Drunk Irishmen (and everyone who wishes they were one) flood the bar scene and the night almost always ends with drunken brawls. In my neck of the woods, SPD also happens to fall during the time of year when the City is just beginning its Big Thaw. Suddenly there are spaghetti straps, flip flops, tiny skirts and titties in great abundance all over downtown. This sudden increase in visible flesh also seems to play a role in the rowdiness that is associated St. Patty's Day. Guys who are already suffering from sudden testosterone poisoning decide to add fuel to the fire and flock to the local bars to throw back and throw punches.

However, if a girl is wise she can rack up (no pun intended) some SERIOUS cash. St. Patrick's Day also happens to be falling on a weekend during March Madness!! The Uncle has me on the schedule for every night this weekend and given past experience, I'm estimating I'll walk away with over $2,000 from Friday and Saturday, and another $600 on Sunday. Easily.

It's not that I'm mind-blowingly superb at mixing drinks, I just know how to smile, flirt, and lean over a little too far when I reach under the rail for another glass. Is it demeaning? Meh....sort of. Do I LOVE doing it? Nope.....definitely not. Am I freaking hard up for easy cash? You betcher butt, yo! If this is what I have to resort to in order to make some quick money I'm cool with it.

Of course I did work with bartenders that were more than happy to accompany a patron to their home for a little sleep-over. I was never into that. It always seemed to be just this side of hooking. I'm perfectly willing to flash a little skin and shake a little rump to make some extra bucks, but I'm not about to whore it out. (Don't give me that look!) I'm a natural born flirt, people. I'll flirt with a lamppost if it's the only thing standing still long enough. I truly believe in the old adage, you catch more flies with honey. Hey, I'm all about catching flies....especially if it means a big pay-off for me!

Special Man Friend was more than a little horrified the first time I got us a discount on some videos we were renting just because I flirted with the guy behind the counter. I was blessed with some pretty nice assets (pun intended) and I'm not afraid to use them. Sure, I've been accused of being manipulative but hey, if someone is naive enough to fall for it, then that's just too bad for them. My spell has been broken on SMF for a long time now. It is only on RARE occasions now that a well-timed cleavage flash or 'Naughty Girl' smile will get him to do what I want. He's got my number and I know that my techniques only work when he was already planning on letting me get my own way.

Needless to say, I was pretty sure Special Man Friend was going to put the kibosh on this idea when I talked it over with him yesterday. Of course, he was less than thrilled by the idea of his cherished beloved letting guys ogle her goodies just so she can have some spending cash. However, SMF is a numbers guy and given the number of hours I would be working (9p-2a) on Friday and Saturday and 12p-10p on Sunday, he finally admitted that $2,600 was difficult to pass up. So I guess it's official Internets! I'm gonna let my Milkshake bring all the boys to the bar.....and them I'm gonna take 'em for all they're worth. ;-)

All I have left to do is: (a) brush up on my Pocket Guide, (b) pick out my best "Oops! You Can See My Boobs When I Bend Over" shirt, and (c) practice my "Come and Get Me, Big Boy" look in the mirror. SWEET! Good times.

Of course, SMF did have some final words regarding the whole situation:

SMF: Just don't forget those are MY titties I'm letting you show off.

ME: I don't remember reciting any "Till death do us part" vows lately.

SMF: Well....I've made a down payment anyway.

ME: Really?! I don't see a ring on this finger! [wiggling my left hand at him]

SMF: FINE! I'm renting to own! Just keep that in mind, Dingle.

ME: Deal.


PS: I thought I'd make my Buppy Wuppy Head feel a little bit better and share MY pet name.

The One with The Tour Updates

HELLO Dear Internets!

Oh how I've missed you! The past eleven days have been pretty wild and woolly let me tell ya.

Choir Tour was INSANE! We drove all the way out to Staten Island and I just got back about two hours ago!

Here are some numbers for you

14: Number of concerts performed

11: Number of days I was actually on the road

Eleventy Billion: Number of dollars SMF and I are going to spend on the cell phone this month

51: Number of people that were on Tour

0: Number of people I actually physically harmed (YAY for me!)

2: Number of times I sang the solo I REALLY, REALLY wanted....whatev.

19: Number of my choir folder....just thought you wanted to know

300,519,298: Number of Mocha Fraps consumed by Yours Truly

300, 519, 299: Number of potty breaks I needed b/c of all the Mocha Fraps

WAAAAAAY Too Many: Number of sack lunches consumed consisting of sandwiches and chips

Never Again Before I Die: Number of times I want to eat cold cuts again

1: Number of times I took my picture with a weather predicting groundhog

One Bazillion: Number of times I thought about SMF


I don't even know where to begin guys! This Tour was truly a blessing. I am utterly exhausted and totally refreshed at the same time. Thank you for any prayers/happy thoughts you sent my way. I appreciate it.

I'm sure I will log on and give you some details at a later date. Right now I'm going to go sleep in MY OWN BED!!!!! Then Special Man Friend and I have some catching up to do.

Later Taters!

The One with The Updates

SPRING BREAK 2007!!! Wooooooo! Show us your boobs!


Okay....now that we have THAT out of our system. It's true, here at Tiny Christian University it is OFFICIALLY Spring Break 2007. What am I doing you ask? I'm spending it on a bus with 52 other people DRIVING to Staten Island and back. WOOOOOOOOOOO!!! (Uh huh.)

Along with it being Spring Break, it is also Concert Choir Spring Tour 2007. This year we are traveling to Staten Island, NY with performances along the way in Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania. (We headed your way Mrs. Chili....I'll wave from New York!) We perform at churches and stay with members of the congregation every night. Essentially, every night I have no idea where exactly I'm going to be laying my head, I just have faith that it will be somewhere warm and safe.

This element is only one of many that makes Tour so intense. (Wait till next year when we tour Europe and do it the EXACT same way!!! YIKES!!) Not only are we performing everyday (sometimes twice), but we are making the entire trip on hope and some prayers. (Granted the churches are arranged ahead of time so it's not like we just show up at some random church expecting food and a place to stay....that's just insanity!)

Last year I was lucky enough to stay with wonderful families in BEAUTIFUL houses every night. One of my Florida families hosted four of us girls for two nights and let us use their car, go to the movies, take naps in the afternoon, sunbathe on their patio, and each of us had her own rooms. NICE!!! (Everyone is praying to be placed with that type of family.)

What am I trying to say in all of this? YAY!!! Tour!!! I'm excited!!! (Okay moving on.)
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Ummmm...since the last time we chatted, I have been placed on the ADD drug Adderall XR. My therapist and I decided to try a new tactic since EVERYTHING else we had tried failed to help my poor GPA. Of course, besides cutting WAAAAAAAAAAY down on the amount of time I spend at Special Man Friend's Bachelor Pad. That helped quite a bit actually! (Go figure.)

I had noticed I was having a problem staying focused back in middle school, but my Mother Figure was pretty adamant that I was just lazy. So I put my nose to the grindstone to achieve the GPA expected by my parents. I graduated with a 3.85 and nearly killed myself in the process. Now at college, I'm finding it almost impossible to keep focused on one thing for too long. My GPA currently?? A 2.0. Uhhh....yeah, clearly there's a problem, so I'm going to see how this med stuff works for a while. (At LEAST a year.)

I'm pretty happy with my decision to go on meds. Thus far I have been able to cope with the side effects. Minor headaches and nausea after my first meal of the day seem to be the two that hit on a consistent basis. My Psychiatrist/Neurologist (we'll call him Dr. Brain) promises that these things will lessen in time.

What am I trying to say in all of this? YAY!!! Drugs!!! I'm excited!!! (Okay moving on.)
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And last but not least, I STILL don't have the solo in choir. What has Dr. Director decided? The freshman and I are going to share it!!!!!! Alright....fine. All I have to say about it is,

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING ASSHOLE?!?

(Shhhhh....don't tell SMF that I just swore.)

It's not that I'm a Super Diva (I'm a recovering one actually)! The fact is that I have logged a total of 15 hours working on this stupid solo!!! Snot-nose Freshman?? She'll openly admit she hasn't worked on it at all!!! WTF?!? I mean really! Even the Choir thinks this is more than a little shitty.

*sigh* Fine, dearest Dr. Director. Be that way! I just want to you to know that I am agreeing to this arrangement only under extreme duress.

What am I trying to say in all of this? DAMN YOU DR. DIRECTOR!!!!! DAMN YOU TO HELL!




Ugh....YAY for Tour. :-/

The One in Which I LOSE MY MIND!

Okay...I actually had to sit down and roll up my sleeves for this one. I need to do a lottle (not a little but a lottle...) ranting!!

To My Dearest and Lovliest Choir Director,


IF THAT F-ING SNOT-NOSED FRESHMAN GETS THE SOLO IN CHOIR, I CANNOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR MY ACTIONS!!!!!!

I'm not kidding here dearest Choir Director, sir. I auditioned for this department last year and you awarded me a $120,000 scholarship to sing. Remember that???

Yeah.....so get the idea of this FROSHY doing the solo out of your little pea-brain and let's get serious here. We leave on tour in EIGHT days and we need to know who's doing this solo. Don't make me come after you...

You asked today in rehearsal who had the depth and soul to do this solo and the choir spoke. Did you hear the name they said??? Were you there?!?!? "Let Cass do it!"; "Cassie!!"; "I figured Cass was doing it." REMEMBER THAT MOMENT?!?!?

Obviously I am MUCH too humble to just walk up to the front and take the mic after I heard my name. I allowed you the opportunity to make up your mind, but then you did this REALLY bizarre thing!! You avoided all eye contact with and called out FROSHY'S name!!!!! That little wench waltzed up to that mic like she owned the place. She thinks just because she can sing a dotted syncopated rhythm she's something to write home about! Are you kidding me?!? Every time I HEAR HER SPEAK she's bragging about her past choir experience but what you, my dear director, seem to forget is that it doesn't matter....I'M BETTER!! I was in my first professional choir the YEAR SHE WAS F-ING BORN!!!! I mean, really!!

Do I need to strut around and spout my credentials? Do I need to tell you I have sung with 6 professional orchestras? Do you REALLY need to know that I was named Best State Soloist 2 years running? Is that what you need? Or is she just spending her lunch hour under your desk?!?!? I don't want to point fingers but WHY ARE WE EVEN DISCUSSING THIS?!? It is common knowledge that freshmen don't get solos. That's just how the world works!

Well Mr. Director, you better not be freaking surprised when I show up in your office dressed in my Cute clothes looking to "just sing through some things really quick". I can play THIS game! If nothing else, in all my years as a competitive singer....I HAVE LEARNED HOW TO COMPETE!


PS: Who are we kidding? The pink suits me.

The One with My Mother and The Jelly.

Alright....I'm calling on the powers of all the "Mommies" that swing by my site. Here's the deal, I think my mother is trying to kill me and I need to know if this is okay.

I don't know if any of my dear readers have ever had this habit, but everytime I walk in my Mother's house I automatically open the refridgerator door. My whole molecular balance gets thrown off if I don't get the chance to open the fridge, stick my head in and say, "I'm starving. What do you have to eat?" Even after eating out with my parents and riding back to their place, complaining the whole way about how stuffed I am, I will walk in the front door and promptly open the fridge. It's just a natural phenomenom.

Today was no different. I agreed to spend the weekend with my parents so I could help serve my Mom's retirement luncheon at church on Sunday. I wasn't in her house for longer than 8 minutes before I found my way to the kitchen and stuck my head in her fridge. She was in the process of making me clam chowder and I STILL HAD TO OPEN THE FRIDGE!! I decided that I couldn't wait for the soup and had to eat RIGHT NOW! I pulled out the fixin's for a PB & J sandwich and got to work.

I spent 45 seconds selecting the most perfectly shaped, symmetrical pieces of bread. I performed a thorough and scientific Taste Benefit ratio on the differences between Grape and Strawberry jelly. I chose the perfect knife for the job....definitely a butter knife but not too skinny or it wouldn't properly get the jelly out of the jar. I poured myself a frothy glass of milk in anticipation of a tasty "old school" lunch. I placed all of my supplies on the counter and got busy.

Suddenly there was a fluke! The jelly wouldn't open!! No amount of grunting, pouting, foot stomping, whining and jumping up and down would open that stupid jar. What Stupid Jar didn't know was, I WAS GOING TO HAVE GRAPE JELLY DAMN IT!!

I decided to run the jar under some hot water in hopes of loosening the sticky jelly glue that was holding my lunch hostage. While I was holding my prisoner under water and tapping my foot, I happened to glance down at the label and almost dropped the jar. There on it's purply little side was the nice neat printing saying, "BEST IF PURCHASED BY 06 2004". WHAT the?!?!?!?

Me: MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!! (In Chi-town all good children refer to their mothers as "Mah". Make it super nasally and you've got it.) Why do we have jelly from 2003?!?!?!?! That's just wrong!!! No wonder the jar wouldn't open! It was trying to save me from certain death.

Mah: Oh stop! It's jelly. You can eat it for years and years and be just fine.

Me: Mah! That's assuming you BUY A NEW JAR EVERY YEAR! EWwwwwwww. That's just gross.

Mah: Cut it out. If I had made the sandwich for you, you wouldn't have known any different.

Me: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWwwwwwww!

Mah: Just stop it and make yer sandwich. (FYI "Yer" is not just a quirky internet spelling of 'your' and 'you're'...that's really how it's pronounced (or PERnounced) in these parts.)

Me: Never mind. I'm not hungry. I'll wait for the soup. Do you want me to throw this away or put it back in the fridge?

Mah: Are you gonna (gunna) eat it next year???

Me: NO!!!!!

Mah: Then just throw it out if yer gunna be sucha baby. I'll get new jelly at the store on Monday.

She was really okay with feeding me three year old jelly?!? What other crazy, unsanitary things do you loony Mah's do?!?!? I've seen the 'lick and stick' technique of cleaning pacifiers, but what have you done lately that DCFS should really know about???





PS: The pink was getting to me. I decided to change up the colors.....I think we've figured out that I'm a girl. Let's move on, shall we??