Dear Computer,

Let me start this by saying we are all here because we love you. We love you and we just can’t bear to see you like this. So, we’re having an intervention… Please don’t look so angry… I’m sorry to ambush you like this, but you need help and we have your bags packed and [...]

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Start Your Day With A Laugh…

Introducing Bo Fo Sho with his new hit, that’s fo sho destined to go Gold, Best Rapper Ever…

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Just So’s Ya Know…

My computer is on the crack pipe again. Damn junkies.

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Happy ERD!!!

The Mister is back from New Orleans…  But, he has been in Hotlanta all day.  No clue when he’ll be home, but I’m dragging his ass shopping in retaliation… 
After a couple of ERD beers, of course.  Cheers!

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Hehe…

Whose husband was this? Fess up… 

Funny Videos

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My New Header…

What do you think?

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Of all days to have no camera…

Avery has worn her witch hat all afternoon, while Henry has sported a pink, bejewelled and fir trimmed tiara and a turqouise feather boa.  He is a she today, according to Avery, and her name is Hiney McKelleken.   
The Mister would loooove these pics.  And so would Henry in about twelve years. 
You suck, Mister.  And I [...]

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Is It Just Me?

Am I the only freaking weirdo out there with over 100 drafts saved in my blog dashboard?  I just looked to find an entry I’ve been working on, and there are 103 drafts saved.  ONE HUNDRED AND THREE.  I think it’s time to clean out the fridge…  What do y’all think?  I’m sure some of [...]

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Crying In My Coffee, For Real…

He’s gone…  To New Orleans.  Without me.  To New Orleans.  Mother fucker.
And he took my camera.  WTF?
ETA:  As if I’m not already grouchy enough, Henry decided to welcome the morning with runny poop smeared from his chest to his knees…  And has been screaming since.  Like SCREAMING screaming. 
I’m hitting the sauce early today, people.

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Crying In My Beer… Or Coffee…

I’m pouting today.  Yes, I’ve been sick and yes, the Mister has babied me and taken care of the kids since yesterday morning…  But, I’m still mad at him.  And I’m going to go all three-year-old on him and pout.  Pout like hell.  Maybe even, intermittently, bat some eyelashes and ask, “Pretty, pretty please?  With [...]

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