Up to Speed...

So, in case you have not heard, we are at war. This began last week when I decided to rub it in Girth's face, via Face book, that I was wearing his beloved Between the Buried and Me sweatpants (yes, the same ones that I shit in before) without underwear. This is what he received from me:

"These are your favorite sweatpants, on my body. Sans skipps. It's just me...all up in there.

Consider it marking my territory.
I do what I want.
I dominate.
Boom."

 

 

He gets home, sees this, and is not pleased. At all. So as he is sitting bitching, and I am cooking dinner and laughing at him, I piss.
"Ooops, I just pissed your pants".

And there the war was born. What followed that evening before bedtime was this:

 "You piss in my favorite sweatpants and wear them with no underpants again this will not be the last time this happens. REVENGE!!!"

 

Now- these are my favorite comfy pants. And I am also not one to be outdone, though I am no arsonist either, so I was forced to get creative. Which lead to him coming home the following day to this:

"It is not even 10 a.m. and I have already cut the nuts out of all of your underwear. Just so you know how intense things can get, I snipped the nuts out of a pair of your kids too.
Enjoy the new airflow to your taint."

 

There has been zero activity in the past few days. Peace has been restored on Facebook, and I believe that I have won. We'll see.

 

 

In other news, a couple things that made me feel like a legit mother.

1. Riot dropped a huge F-bomb...so I put soap in his mouth. Not a lot, but I did jam it on his toofs with my finger...so the taste had to have stuck.

2. I had my physical done. My jeans were so high that my physician chuckled and asked me to unbutton them. I did. It was three buttons worth of unbuttoning, reminding me of the Button Your Fly days, and I suddenly became nostalgic for the Button Your Fly t-shirts. And Umbros. And Rave hairspray.

 

A million things...

I hate lip gloss, lip stick, chapstick, anything lip related. I think it feels like jizz. However, I don't mind...well, nevermind...


Why do people say,"God never gives you more than you can handle",....but the suicide rate is so high? So he just gives you more than you can handle, because he thinks you can handle it, but then when you try to kill yourself, he doesn't intervene, and just lets you die, even though suicide is a sin?  


Sometimes when we go for rides on nice days, Chris will say excitedly, "Oh wow, LOOK!" and point to my window. When I look in a hurry, he slams on the breaks and I smash my head and face off the window.


I always feel like I want something, but I never know what it is. Like the same feeling you have when you forget something, but you can't figure out what. Constantly.


I know secrets about people, that they don't know that I know. Legit secrets, fact based, legit sources. Sometimes I get awkward around you because if it. Because it's a scummy secret. Sometimes I want to laugh and ask you a question about it, but I can't, because I am not suppose to know...so I want to punch you in the face instead. There are quite a few of "you".


Every girl owns 'period underwear'. Ask her, if she says no, she's a lying whore. Or she is menopausal. I own a pair or two. They are huge. Like, up to my tits and the back of my neck. I tell myself they are 'vintage' style. Sometimes I lie to myself.


Easy come, easy go.


Every time I open up candy or fruit snacks for Riot, I eat one of whatever it is. I completely justify it by calling it 'commission'. See a smudge of dirt on my offspring's face? Don't think I won't lick my entire hand and palm the poor kid. He's only three and ducks for cover. I feel an obscene sense of entitlement over his whole life, and it will probably never fade.


Suzuki X-90's are my favorite car in the world. On a drive one day, Chris pointed out that a house had two in their driveway. When I saw them, I cried because I was so jealous. They were made from 95-97. A two door, two seater, T-top, 4 wheel drive car. Been obsessed since I was around 20. Only around 3-4 thousand dollhairs for my dream car. 

Who the fuck has posed Leonardo Dicaprio for photoshoots?

 

Bathtime. Together.

So Girth and I had a bitchfest the other night. I was raging since my ovaries are exploding and he was just being especially twattish. Finally I settled into my book and and he roamed around the house like he was busy. Then grabbed a beer and told me he was taking a bath. About 15 minutes later he calls my name. I'm fucking pissed because I never sit for more than 5 minutes at a time without my name being called urgently. So I get up, and head in. Open the door, there's my husband bathing with the light off and lit candles. He tells me to get in. (Now, we used to take baths every day together, pre-baby days, pre-fat days....so this is nostalgic).
So I am in and we are cuddling. He wants to sex me. I know it. Mostly because of the raging boner taking up space in our already limited bathtub. I feel frisky, so I decide I want to drip candle wax on him. On his wiener, specifically. Immediately this isn't looking good. He isn't letting me near his junk. I'm laughing and begging...I say, "OK, OK, let me put it in your pussy hair", he says, "No, no, you'll start a bush fire"...I am waiting to sneak attack him...he stands strong though. So I fling the candle, he screams like a bitch and awkwardly catches it. Frgging candle wax floating everywhere. We are scums though, so we stayed in. Now we are at opposite ends and I'm like, OK, wash my vagina. He sits up, looks down at my snooch and says, "ew- fuck you". I tell him no, it's sexy, let's get sexy. So, he grabs his squeezy soap, splats it on me, gives my muffin a couple swipes and then flicks water at it. I told him he had to get all up in the nooks & crannys. He had a disgusted face the entire time. It was a shit job. He would have the dirtiest clam ever, if he had his own. Again, we lay back at opposite ends. My hair gets stuck on the faucet part and rips half of it out. Then I farted.
Then he got out.
The end.

This picture is a fucking lie.

 

Sexy has left the building.

I was sitting on the couch with Girth, and farted. It was disgusting. He got up, and walking into the kitchen says:
"You are so fucking gross. Whats wrong with you? That smells hot, I bet you singed your asshole hairs!"
I can't see him because he is in the kitchen, but I am laughing and jiggling like a lard ass, and as I get ready to say something, he yells:
"And don't try and tell me you don't even have asshole hairs, you're fucking sick".

He also regularly checks Riot and me for ticks. So the other day after we came in, he checked Riot, then when Riot was in his room, I hurried up and stripped completely naked and ran and splayed out on the bed. He hung his head in defeat, maybe shame, and came in to check me. I rolled onto my belly and farted...intensely. His decision was to stop checking me. And now he won't check me for ticks anymore, so I am probably going to die.

I drove our 4 wheeler for the first time yesterday. Now I am completely in awe of how some girls do it. Girth took pics of me, and I am left wondering why I don't make adventures look sexy. Head back laughing, hair blowing Godiva style in the wind...nope. My hair blows back into the form of a mullet my eyes get crazy and my mouth hangs open like a happy moron. You would think it was my first day running through the halls without a helmet on.

I am convinced that any sexiness I once had was lost when I gave birth. There must have been a glitch in that magical moment when my foot slid out of the stirrup, kicked over the surgical tray holding all the tools, my sister yelling, "You pooped! It's OK though though, it was only a small nugget...", Chris laughing about my water breaking and splashing his shoes and a baby springing out of my vag. Sexiness ran out the fucking door, slammed it shut and decided to never return.

Pretty much.