aisha tyler thinks i deserve $100 but is too busy directing films to play online scrabble with me

alternate title: me, andy dick and vin diesel are on the same black list


i have an unhealthy relationship with facebook. i fawn over it like i am 16 and it is my new boyfriend. i laugh at it's jokes, listen to it's stories, and stay up way too late enjoying its comments and company. and when i haven't heard from it in awhile i wait anxiously for its call. also the make up sex is great!! so naturally, i add people that i find awesome so i can read their updates and be informed and feel a false sense of importance. and i randomly added aisha tyler who of course is awesome and gives me a laughy feeling. and so later when my mom and i were discussing the ghost whisperer, (her saying it was a great show, me still feeling betrayed by the death of aisha's character at the end of the first season), i mentioned that aisha was my facebook friend. and thus began debate about whether i was friends with aisha or her publicist. i set my mom straight and upped the ante by betting her $100 that not only was aisha actually aisha, but that she would play facebook scrabble with me which my mom always seems to beat me at . then, fearing for my wallet, i enlisted in aisha's help.



my mom scoffed! she had little faith in me or aisha, and aisha i just wanted to say in my mother's defense it's not you, she is just naturally cynical. and laughing in the face of a potential restraining order i continued my plea. and aisha NOTHERPUBLISISTTHANKYOUVERYMUCH responded within a few hours, with kind words about my nosepicking offspring and to rub her not-publicistness in my mom's face.


the flair she was referring to was a request for satan to take my mother-in-law back to hell from whence she came, which is funny because now even aisha tyler knows my mother in law should suck it. but to thank her for giving me a reason to hover over facebook and rub my mom's nose into my awesomeness, i made her her own personal flair. i'm pretty sure she looks at it all the time.



also i want to add that i don't condone any rubbing of anything into the face or other part of anybody's mother.

and also thanks to my mom (and aisha) for the new screen doors my mom used as debt payment.

it has come to my attention that betting may be illegal, in which case it was all fun and games. (mom check your email.)

beaner and the breaking of blog silence

i'm kind of unreasonably sad that jack is more boy than baby. but it happens. he walks, he climbs, he plays. he has favorite games. he is starting to talk. he says "nah-nee" for alot of things and i have no idea what it means. his only real babyness now is that he still nurses. sometimes at naptime, mostly just at bedtime. and at will through the night because we are still cosleeping. i'm totally ready to kill myself SO OVER the breastfeeding AND the cosleeping,(which is crudely misnamed because he is the only one who actually sleeps), but i don't know how to wean him in a traumaless way. and now that he is over one, i'm starting to get guff about nursing from everyone. as though i am indulging myself or something. bah! so if anyone knows the special recipe of getting the baby off my boob and out of my bed, that doesn't require me listening to screaming, i would pretty much be your slave for life. because this one year old shaped nipple tassle is kind of not my style. i much prefer a t-shirt and comfy jeans.

and i am still quite amused that every one who knows him, (including minor aquaintances), calls him jackabean. or jackabeaner. or jacka. or beaner. or frequently in my case, jackabeanerpiecakesfacepantscheekslipshead or something to that effect. i am fairly certain that he is doomed to a life of being called "beaner" and people will ask "why the hell do people call you beaner" and he'll be all "oh, my mom is a little crazy. and maybe everyone else."
but even still, it suits him.

OH NO HE DI-N'T!!!

i was the booze wench earlier and my 8th grade history teacher was working at the liquor store.

ME: mr. hennessey! you were my all time favorite teacher!
HIM: DAWN BROUGH!!!

uh- no. that's my mom.
ME: actually, i'm her daughter.

GUY BEHIND THE COUNTER: (in disbelief) you had her MOTHER too???

HIM: BRITTAINY!! you wrote beautiful poems! i remember them all from your "all quiet on the western front" reviews.
sorry mister h. no glossing over that one, kay?
ME HIM AND COUNTER GUY: blah blah small talk small talk

so i look old enough to be my own mother. joy.


also? for no good reason my glasses broke in half and fell off my face. oh- and i'm totally helpless without my glasses. changing diapers would mean sticking my face in jack's butt to see what i was doing. thankfully, i got in the next day and had my glasses within hours. i may need to sell jack to pay for them though!

an open letter in poetry form this time

you may have noticed the missing post.
yeah so i decided maybe too much dirty laundry. to those of you who read it and sent your love, thank you. that helped. but it inspired me to make some music, which i haven't done in ages. i have to figure out how to use my music software jay got me for christmas a few years ago. my mom bought me the that-software-for-idiots book but then my old laptop didn't have the right whatever-cards and i think this one does. but vista will probably F things up somehow.
but anyway.
this is an abbreviated version of an open letter that i wrote to some self-absorbed, condescending, cowardly jerkface my dad, who i had to hunt down at the ripe old age of 28, because evidently if i wanted the privilege of being a part of his life that's was my obligation. also, sunshine and rainbows must pour of out my ass by the gallon, and it was to be strictly via facebook. seriously. but i got cancelled when i was fresh talked back said things he didn't want to hear. how sad for me? him.

wrote a song about it. like to hear it? here it go


the lonely road

what a life it must be
to live in oblivious hypocrisy
you've got your big boy pants on
and you're busting through the seams

that highfalutin' fancy small talk
those trophies on your wall
they've got nothing on me
so take that with you when you go

i can be perseverance girl
you can pave a solitary path
it won't destroy my world
but if you want me to be
the sum of 30 years of woes
you'll have to walk down that lonely road alone

i hope my ghost plays a part
when you decide what kind of man you want to be
i hope you can live with that hole in your heart
that is shaped like me

you know there's nothing like time
and the clock keeps ticking on
and i'm not missing out cause you were never mine
and i won't be pining when you're gone

i am perseverance girl
you put that chip on your cold shoulder
you can not blame the world
i know two angels and its they who told me so
you'll have to walk down that lonely road alone

an open letter to those who wish to have skype sex with me

dear those who wish to have skype sex with me,
who the crap are you, and what is it about the profile picture of me with no make-up, bags under my eyes, and my 8 month old would lead you to believe that i want to discuss nipple tassels and spankings with you and whatnot? you lost all your credibility when you said "hey sexy are you busy?"
see that baby?
yeah i'm busy.
and thanks to him making me worship like a god every free second i have to sleep, i may never wish to have REAL sex again, never mind fake sex with some strange cyber prostitute at all hours of the night. because hello? typing? now you want me to WORK for it too?
bitch.
if i knew how to block you i would. but i don't. and also? trying to turn me on in another language is not hot either. it's confusing. so knock it off, kay? i'm not interested in sleeping with you unless it really involves sleeping. if anything in the world could turn me on it would be a nice, long, hard sleep. and the pillow talk would be me drooling in my pillow whilst dreaming of pina colotas and no kids to drive me nuts while i drank them.
that's hot.
otherwise leave me the crap alone. that's ten minutes of no sleep i'll never get back. just ask my husband. he'll tell you. in fact, direct all future conversations to him. he needs to get it from somewhere. and better you than me.
bye now.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

........

you can add this to the list of posts you wish you had never read

and if you continue to read on, know that you were warned and don't send me your therapy bills. and don't suggest that i send my child to therapy, because she is only three and it will be at least another ten years before i have ruined the sanctity of her pretty little head and need a professional to reverse the damage. so now you know that what i am about to write about is potentially damaging to your delicate sensibilities, (thanks again, dr. phil!), and the fragile developing minds of my young. so one could only deduce that i am about to write about an unfortunate experience or two regarding the improper confinement of my vajay-jay. and no this isn't a VA (vag accident) post including the high-balance-beam-incident of the fifth grade that resulted in the loss of consciousness and a wheelchair ride, or the permanent various emotional and physical damages that result from a ten pound human being yanked by the arm from my unsuspecting nethers. no, internets, those are stories for a more appropriate time. say, around a campfire with an ominous flashlight held under the chin.

today lets talk about my indecent exposure, courtesty of dear mackenzie, and occasionally including her two year old, (at the time), commentary.
i'm not sure at what age it is considered wrong to be careless about nudity in front of your young kids. (and i'm not talking nudist colony nakedness, more like hygeine induced nakedness.) but i'm pretty sure it coincides chronologically with the time your two year old bursts uninvited into your bedroom just as you have dropped your bath towel and exposed the front of yourself to what used to be a closed door, and takes one look at you before exclaiming, "OH NO!!! MOMMY IS BROKEN!!!!", and tries to get a better look at your "boo-boo" while you are desperately trying to keep a ball of socks covering your parts in spite of her efforts. try changing that subject. good times.
but that is not even the ultimate child induced embarrassment courtesty of mackenzie because that time it was just her seeing my girly bits and not a room full of my family members. you see, internets, there is just something about a 9 months pregnant belly that repells clothing. especially underwear. underwear tends to roll off the mountainous belly and settle somewhere around mid-thigh where it won't be perturbed by, say, gravity. and also nothing fits at that point of pregnancy. except for scrubs. giant scrubs with a handy waist tie. but guess what? even giant scrubs with a handy waist tie are no match for a hungry toddler who is tugging incessantly at them so that you might put down the arms full of coffee, donuts and toddler luggage and hand over a boston cream already! and just as the din of "mumma. mumma. mumma. mummamummamummamummamummaMUMMAMUMMA! MUUUMMMAAAA!" comes into focus, and begins to annoy you, your pants have been tugged one time too many and have given up, retreating to your ankles in defeat. and there is not a lot you can do about that when your hands are full of hot coffee, confections and a backpack full of my little ponies. grandmothers, aunts, and cousins be damned! at least your undies are intact you think. oh yeah. mid-thigh. and just because you can't see the goods thanks to the ten pounder making himself comfortable in your midsection, doesn't mean all your relatives won't be scarred forever. so you shuffle over to the nearest flat surface and put things down to collect yourself, ignoring the gasps and subsequent roaring laughter coming from your soon to be disowned family, and the retort by the youngest in the room that you should only pull your pants down when you have to go pee, remember?
nice.

this post brought to you by memories conjured by this post from catherine, at Her Bad Mother.
why don't you head on over there and thank her.

how many pencils did this take?

this is my aunt monique. (um hello? awesome school house rock tee, kay?) i didn't know her until a month ago, but it seems like i've known her forever. she is an obsenely talented artist as you can see. we chat mostly via facebook, and my mom posted some really great photos of mackenzie and jack. i mentioned to mom that i would like those pics enlarged so i can hang them along my staircase. so as a big, fat, huge surprise auntie mo drew portraits of my kids and mailed them to my mom to bring to the housewarming party. my! favorite! pictures! ever!


have you ever seen a picture that made you tear up? i'm not a fan of crying in front of a house full of guests, so i kept it together for the most part. but there was a welling, and a slight spill-over. and for a few minutes there was no party and it was just me staring at this picture.

she captured everything. right down to the eyelashes. right down to the individual eyebrow hairs! it's really uncanny! and i love the musical background. it really captures kenz's musical essence.
as you can see from the photo clipped to the sketch, this one is right on too!
that's my jackabean. look how perfect his one dimple is. LOOK! and he gets the music notes as well. can you read pie pan music? jack has it down. he rocks the pie pan in A minor. he's a bluesy type of pan player.
i will post about my kick-ass housewarming party in another post. this one deserves a post all it's own.
i know aunt monique reads my blog, although she has yet to comment on it, (hint, hint), so leave your love and awe here.