Pass the Puns, Please

It happened again. The hubs has left me for more lucrative prospects. Apparently, the lure of big money and the prospect of sharing a hotel room with a sweaty, smelly, overweight balding man was just more tempting than having lots of bendy sex quality time with me and bonding with his children.

I'm cool with it though. Let's get real. After a month of having the bed to myself, not tripping on his dirty socks or sitting in the damn toilet bowl because he thoughtfully left the seat up to make peeing easier for himself next time nature called, I was ready to see him off.

Sure I'll miss the back rubs, the words of whispered romance and the ability to have an evening to myself since the kids crawled over him like ants on a syrup bottle, but there is such a thing as too much.

And he'll be back soon. In ten days or so. Just enough time for me to start missing him again. As long as he gives me plenty of notice of his arrival, all will be well.

I wouldn't want him to know the truth about how we live while he's off busting his bottom. It takes time to pick up the empty pop bottles, chip bags and candy wrappers scattered everywhere. The layer of filth that accumulates in his absence doesn't miraculously clean itself you know.

A special thanks to my brother-in-law and his wife, a.k.a the Great White Hunter and Martha Freakin' Stewart, for opening their home to me and my small brood last night so we wouldn't wallow in our collective misery about Boo's departure. Thanks for the Chinese food Frac whined about eating (it was very good, but for some reason I was hungry an hour later), the hockey game (it was a treat to be able to see the Oil lose; generally I just listen on the radio), and for sharing your chitlens, One through Five. Even if One, Two and Three think it's cute to lick me, I still love them.

Now I'm off to hunt down some chocolate and spend some quality time with my children, whom I have ignored for the better part of a week. Enjoy le fromage while I dust off my parenting skills!


Paints were a very precious commodity in the good old days, and British merchants could make a small fortune supplying paints to the colonies.

One company sent a clipper ship full of red paint across the ocean. It had the very bad luck to collide with another ship full of blue paint.

As a result of this disaster, both crews were... marooned.

Hee hee.

Pass the Puns, Please

It's about time things got back to normal around here, and to celebrate the new, very public status of my blog, I had to dig hard for some good cheese. After all, now all my relatives know about my proclivity for le fromage.

It's not like I can just stumble to the computer naked, without makeup or hair combed and just blog anything while I sip on my morning coffee. Oh wait, yes it does. It just means they are going to hang their heads in shame a little bit longer when they think of me than they normally would have otherwise.

And yes, occasionally I sit here naked as the day I was born. Nothing like a little nudity to get the creative juices flowing. Plus, it really turns on the hubs.

Good morning my darling mother in law. Say hello to Nana for us. Heehee.

On that note, I'm off to go get dressed. Wouldn't want the kids to find their momma sitting here, stroking the keyboard while cackling to herself. I do like to pride myself on my parenting skills after all. Without any further ado, enjoy!


I needed underwear. What a pain in the ass. They were stocked in the rear. I argued with the cashier over the price - I didn't crack. I called her a name, she turned the other cheek. I didn't mean to make her the butt of my anger. The yelling was brief. Lucky for her I'm not a boxer. If it wasn't for needing the underwear, I would have socked her. In my triumph, I sang a happy thong on the way out.

Pass the Puns, Please

I'm having sleep issues. As in I'm not getting enough. Not because I stay up late to download music, or because my children rise at the crack of dawn to start jumping on one another and wrestle; not even because I have a newborn to feed in the quiet hours of the night. Although, I really wouldn't mind that last one, if you are reading this dear adoption people.

No, my problem is Nixon, The World's Greatest Dog, Ever. He has bonded with me. And apparently he has bonded with my pillow. Which means I spend the majority of the night elbowing the damn dog who snores worse than my absent husband, to move the hell over while trying to wrestle a corner of my pillow back from the little hog.

But how do you get mad at a pooch who wants to cuddle right up under your chin every night to keep you warm?

Instead of kicking him out and closing the door, no, I'll just keep elbowing him and whining about what a selfish little pig he is. Much like I would if it were Boo in bed with me, instead of my dog.

However, lack of sleep means you shouldn't have high expectations with today's serving of cheese.

It made me smile and groan, but it is a pungent one folks. Fair warned. You might have heard this one before, but consider it a quality encore production. Even the stinky cheese needs to be aired out now again to be appreciated.

Enjoy!


A Chihuahua, a Doberman and a Bulldog are in a bar having a drink when a great-looking female Collie comes up to them and says, "Whoever can say liver and cheese in a sentence can have me."

So the Doberman says, "I love liver and cheese." The Collie replies, "That's not good enough."

The Bulldog says, "I hate liver and cheese." She says, "That's not creative enough."

Finally, the Chihuahua says, "Liver alone . . . cheese mine."