A boob in hand is better than two in the bush

I am not entirely sure what this title means, but just typing it made me laugh. Joy -- there is joy in that there title.

When I had my C-section, I made some lame joke about giving me a tummy tuck while they had me sliced open. They didn't even humor me with a polite chuckle, which would have been the least they could have done after 14 hours of labor and an unsuccessful epidural, but I digress.


It turns out that such a procedure does in fact exist! I was researching the C-tuck procedure out of curiosity when I came across this freaky little logo for Bermant Plastic Surgery (whose website name is also odd, www.plasticsurgery4u.com/).



While I appreciate artistic license, it has no place in plastic surgery. And what is that weird little point on the right side? Is that a beak?

This is not what I want to see when they remove my bandages:

We once chose an artsy body shop to fix our car after a fender bender. I won't make the same mistake when it comes to going under the knife.

Hillary Explained

Hillary is now finding herself the subject of a media brouhaha. Apparently Hillary recounted her terrifying trip to Tuzla Bosnia at which time her life was threatened by sniper fire.

The media has interpreted footage of this trip and made an uninformed determination that Hillary was exaggerating her claims that her life was in danger when she stated:

"There was no greeting ceremony and we basically were told to run to our cars"

If you think Hillary was overstating the perilous conditions of her Bosnian visit, then you clearly were not there. She was not greeted by school children, but by a member of the Compact Bosnian Terrorists Organization (CBTO).

This photo chills me to my very core.

It is apparent that the same misogynistic media, which does not believe that a woman can be president, also does not believe that a woman (albeit a tiny woman) could be a sniper.

Chauvinist pigs.

You can see more details regarding Hillary’s harrowing tale here.

Disastrous cropping

This has to be one of the best photos I have ever taken of Max. Admittedly, the quality is poor, but it makes me laugh every damn time I see it.

He was only about three months old at the time, but was still able to clearly communicate his displeasure with his parents despite being plugged with his pacifier.

I loved this picture so much that I decided that I needed to have it reproduced in mug form. I eagerly looked forward to sipping a warm beverage as our sweet son gives me the finger.

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I was bitterly disappointed when my mug arrived:

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They cropped his first obscene gesture right out of the photo!!! Now we just have a mug with a poor quality photo. What's worse is the fact that I am undoubtedly too lazy to bother to re-order.

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So, I have moved on. I am contemplating redesigning the mast on Max's blog. This way he can flip off friends and family en mass.

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Max says, "Nuts to you, hippies!"

Clock Watching

I have so much stuff I need to be doing this morning. I am having difficulty concentrating, though (not the first time I have struggled with this topic).

Today is MATCH DAY !!!!

At noon today we will learn with which residency program Matt has matched.

Will we remain in this Midwest Land O' Corn? Will we be returning to our beloved Mountain West?!

THE SUSPENSE IS MADDENING!

So, we know we will be moving, we just don't know where . . . until NOON, that is.

Last night was Christmas Eve for our family. This morning we are sleepy, we are giddy, we want to know where to start shopping for a our very first house!

I really just don't think I can get anything done today.

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- - - - - - - - - - - UPDATE - - - - - - - - - -

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YAY! Matt matched with his first choice! We are headed back to the mountains, BABY!

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Max can learn to ski, and we will have use, once again, of our climbing shoes!!!!

The Changling

It seemed like years ago I placed my order for Girl Scout Cookies. When I learned they had at long last arrived I began daydreaming about that first glorious moment in which I would tear open my box of Samoas . . .




Ahh . . . the texture, the aroma, the crunch . . . the happiness!


But my Samoas never arrived.

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Instead, I had unwittingly purchased a box of Carmel deLites. Since the packaging looked identical, I presumed that the Girl Scouts just changed the product name.

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Sadly, I could not have been more wrong.

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The Carmel deLite (shown above) is, at best, a sad and miserable excuse for a Samoa.

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This goes far beyond a mere name change, this is not the same cookie but an unholy abomination before God and my own taste buds.

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I have done a little digging and it seems that there is a slow and evil encroachment of the Carmel deLite into Samoa territory. Carmel deLites are the carp of the Samoa pond -- an insidious fish of a cookie that is pushing out the more tasty indigenous species.

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This affects all of us, people. Sure, you may be able to purchase the Somoa in your neighborhood today, but next year you may not be so fortunate. Then, instead of a delicious Samoa, you will find a Carmel deLite staring back at you with it's soulless eye.

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First they came for the Thin Mints, and I did not speak out—because I was only lukewarm about the Thin Mints;

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Then they came for the Tagalongs, and I did not speak out—because I think the Tagalongs are kinda gross;

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Then they came for the Do-Si-Dos, and I did not speak out—because, to be frank, I don't know what the hell a Do-Si-Do is anyway;

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Then they came for the Trefoils, and I did not speak out—because, honestly, who orders Trefoils? Really?

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Then they came for the SAMOAS . . .

Suprise filling

I love the Cadbury Mini Eggs. I really do. It's just that I wish they didn't look quite so authentic.









Specifically, the white speckled ones that look remarkably like sparrow eggs.

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Years ago when my dad gently placed in my hand a white egg with chocolate colored speckles, I should have thought, "what a lovely little sparrow egg, I wonder where this came from?" What I actually thought was "Yum, a mini egg! I love these things."

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I will never forget that terrible crunch and the nauseous moment of realization that Cadbury Mini Eggs do not have runny, slimy cream filling.

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That was about ten years ago; I still gag a little every time I think about it.

Perhaps not age appropriate

There are so many incredible toys I would love to buy Max. Somehow I have managed to use some parental discretion on the following items:

and my favorites, in traditional University of Wyoming school colors . . .

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For now I am determined not to impose my own weirdness on our kid. When he is old enough, he can decide for himself if weirdness is right for him.

No one likes optimists anyway

Five words:

I . . MUST . . HAVE . . THIS . . MUG

This fantastic product is available at Despair, Inc. :-(.

Enjoy your Friday, people, if you can. Try not to dwell on the fact that Monday is looming just three days away.

Bum Fodder

Around our house we have frequent disputes regarding toilet paper.

I like to buy toilet paper that is soft and gentle; Matt likes to buy toilet paper that says that it is soft and gentle.

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There are two universal truths when it comes to bathroom tissue. First, buying toilet paper is no time to be budget conscious. Second, the more a toilet paper brand claims to be soft, the more freakishly abrasive it is.

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A toilet paper which sells for 97¢ and is called something like "Fluffy Soft & Dainty" is probably made out of leftover copies of the Weekly World News mixed in with glass shards.

The ONLY toilet paper I want near my tookus is Charmin Bathroom Tissue Plus Lotion with Aloe.

You will note the absence of a single adjectives. Adjectives are to be avoided as if your tender little pucker depends upon it -- because it does.

My point in a nutshell:

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(I tried so hard to make my little roll of TP look evil and menacing, despite my best efforts he ended up looking inexplicably cute-ish)