(no subject)
Ugh I've been in teeth hell all week again. S'up emergency root canal? Number 573 even though I only have 30 teeth. Left.
At least my endo guy doesn't have frosted hair.
Just sayin'.
Anyway I'm the worst wife alive cuz after my root canal I was starving and in pain and for some reason I thought it was a stellar idea to gum some nice soft bread with liverwurst. I know. I know. It was one of the early bonding points with Kay and Poland when it turned out we are the only THREE people on the planet who crave liverwurst. And find farting funny. (Except not Poland, when it's in person. It's okay when hot guys on Jackass fart though. She's wily that Pole.) Whatever man, you don't know us.
The point here is not that we are slightly unusual, the point is that with the massive pain in my mouf I didn't brush my teeth before I went to bed. So poor Fratboy had to lie there all night breathing my rank, infected tooth and liverwurst breath all night long and not only did he not divorce me, he even put out. Kay is threatening some Photoshop art. Of the bad breath, not the out putting. Either way she drinks a lot and is fairly lazy so I'm not holding my breath. Although perhaps I should?
Ha.
You see what I did there?
Pleebs.
Before you go off thinking Fratboy is a saint I should point out that ever since becoming Mr. Fancypants Police Guy Getting Blowjobs in Alleys From Crackwhores, he's become somewhat addicted to cop reality TV shows like The First 48 where they follow the detectives as they're solving homicides. Which is not, in itself, the most horrible thing he's ever done to me as I rather enjoy reality tv even though saying that out loud makes me want to punch my own choad. Police reality tv is actually interesting now that Mr. Fancypants over there is involved in it. Except when one episode started last night with a Viewer Discretion warning because it involved murdered kids I told him to change the channel because I canNOT watch anything to do with dead babies. I don't how how this happened to me exactly or why but ever since I sprogged some I am a hysterical weeping pathetic wreck whenever kids are harmed. Me?! The former queen of dead baby jokes?! Oh, the humanity. Anyway he, apparently, thought I was kidding and proceeded to make me watch The Dead Babies Episode. I wept like someone had killed my own kids, no joke. It was embarrassing. And so then I couldn't sleep last night, just thinking about those dead babies and the guy who killed them and I found myself strangely feeling sorry for the murderer who'd been in prison since he was a teenager and at 33 had barely had time to adjust to life on the outside again and how horrible those years must have been to drive him to such a panic that he could kill children simply because they witnessed what he'd done. How one or two moments of blind panic and bad decisions can fuck up so many lives. How much harder some people's lives are than I will ever know or imagine. How easily everything beautiful in my life can be ripped away. And believe me the last thing I want to do is feel sorry for some douchebag who murders babies so I just flew along between being grateful and being sad and crying for dead babies and resisting the urge to get up and hug my fabulously live ones and trying not to hate and trying not to live in fear and at the end of the day I imagine it wasn't all that much worse than having to breathe stinky liverwurst breath all night.
Just sayin'.
So today I want to stab Candy Spelling in the head. Funny that. Murder babies and I'll apparently find a way to feel sorry for you. Be an overpriviledged, ridiculous cunt and you'll drive me to homicidal rage. I never claimed to make sense. But I really need to return this damned book to the library without finishing it before somebody gets hurt.
So boo teeth.
Yay husband who survives sleeping with me.
Boo dead babies and idiots in Hollywood.
Yay long weekend and live babies and best friends and hot husbands and a fabulous life all around.
Though my teeth can seriously suck it.
The end.
At least my endo guy doesn't have frosted hair.
Just sayin'.
Anyway I'm the worst wife alive cuz after my root canal I was starving and in pain and for some reason I thought it was a stellar idea to gum some nice soft bread with liverwurst. I know. I know. It was one of the early bonding points with Kay and Poland when it turned out we are the only THREE people on the planet who crave liverwurst. And find farting funny. (Except not Poland, when it's in person. It's okay when hot guys on Jackass fart though. She's wily that Pole.) Whatever man, you don't know us.
The point here is not that we are slightly unusual, the point is that with the massive pain in my mouf I didn't brush my teeth before I went to bed. So poor Fratboy had to lie there all night breathing my rank, infected tooth and liverwurst breath all night long and not only did he not divorce me, he even put out. Kay is threatening some Photoshop art. Of the bad breath, not the out putting. Either way she drinks a lot and is fairly lazy so I'm not holding my breath. Although perhaps I should?
Ha.
You see what I did there?
Pleebs.
Before you go off thinking Fratboy is a saint I should point out that ever since becoming Mr. Fancypants Police Guy Getting Blowjobs in Alleys From Crackwhores, he's become somewhat addicted to cop reality TV shows like The First 48 where they follow the detectives as they're solving homicides. Which is not, in itself, the most horrible thing he's ever done to me as I rather enjoy reality tv even though saying that out loud makes me want to punch my own choad. Police reality tv is actually interesting now that Mr. Fancypants over there is involved in it. Except when one episode started last night with a Viewer Discretion warning because it involved murdered kids I told him to change the channel because I canNOT watch anything to do with dead babies. I don't how how this happened to me exactly or why but ever since I sprogged some I am a hysterical weeping pathetic wreck whenever kids are harmed. Me?! The former queen of dead baby jokes?! Oh, the humanity. Anyway he, apparently, thought I was kidding and proceeded to make me watch The Dead Babies Episode. I wept like someone had killed my own kids, no joke. It was embarrassing. And so then I couldn't sleep last night, just thinking about those dead babies and the guy who killed them and I found myself strangely feeling sorry for the murderer who'd been in prison since he was a teenager and at 33 had barely had time to adjust to life on the outside again and how horrible those years must have been to drive him to such a panic that he could kill children simply because they witnessed what he'd done. How one or two moments of blind panic and bad decisions can fuck up so many lives. How much harder some people's lives are than I will ever know or imagine. How easily everything beautiful in my life can be ripped away. And believe me the last thing I want to do is feel sorry for some douchebag who murders babies so I just flew along between being grateful and being sad and crying for dead babies and resisting the urge to get up and hug my fabulously live ones and trying not to hate and trying not to live in fear and at the end of the day I imagine it wasn't all that much worse than having to breathe stinky liverwurst breath all night.
Just sayin'.
So today I want to stab Candy Spelling in the head. Funny that. Murder babies and I'll apparently find a way to feel sorry for you. Be an overpriviledged, ridiculous cunt and you'll drive me to homicidal rage. I never claimed to make sense. But I really need to return this damned book to the library without finishing it before somebody gets hurt.
So boo teeth.
Yay husband who survives sleeping with me.
Boo dead babies and idiots in Hollywood.
Yay long weekend and live babies and best friends and hot husbands and a fabulous life all around.
Though my teeth can seriously suck it.
The end.