One more Christmas post.

There are many things in life we don’t get to choose.

How tall we are.

Our eye color.

Your ugly ass feet.

Who your parents are. Who your aunts and uncles are. Your grandparents. Your cousins. Your second cousins. Your siblings. And the people they chose to marry.

Certain traditions, such as the tradition of spending the holidays with the family. Whether you chose to honor that tradition, well, that is your choice.

I chose to spend the holidays with my family because my family is funny as hell and this is why I am the way I am.

Overheard at the family Christmas Eve party:

____________

You just showed up for a blog post. — No, I just love Christmas, dick.

____________

Did she just say she loves dick?

____________

What’s that picture you guys are passing around? — Me, making out with your mom. You want to see?

____________

Does Grandma give you a chub?

____________

Grandma told me she didn’t sleep with Grandpa before marriage. She let him get really far but she never let him go all the way.  — Oh. Well, I did.

____________

Do you need me to rub it? Your knee, not your weenie. 

____________

She’s got wet lips. — Like, on her face?

____________

Did she just tell all of us to shift or shit?

____________

There’s a hair in my food! — At least it’s not a short and curly.

____________

Can I try your drink? — Sure, hon. — Mmm, it’s good! — Your auntie’s going DOWN!

____________

I said I needed HELP! Are you getting hard?

____________

Seriously, quit rubbing your ass on me. You’re my aunt.

____________

KIDS! She’s drunk! She’s grabbing me!

____________

Tell him to take a shit in the basement bathroom. It’s quiet and it’s a place where he can really spread his legs out. Top notch.

____________

He’s kinda picky with beer. He only likes Bud Light. — But he’s 5.

____________

Who is Saint Nicholas, anyway? — It’s me! My name is Nick! — BULLSHIT. You ain’t no saint.

____________

SANTA’S HERE, KIDS! — Some jackass kid just asked why Santa walked through the front door instead of sliding down the chimney.

____________

Santa only named off eight reindeer in his poem. — That’s because this poem was written in the 1800s. Rudolph didn’t show up until the 1960s. — Do you read every night? You seem like you read a lot. — Are you hitting on my wife? That’s incest.

____________

You’re going to be Santa in like 30 years. — No. No, I’m not going to get chubby.

____________

Just put the beer cap by the spindles on the stairs. They won’t see it until next year.

____________

I don’t know anyone on that side of the room. Should I know them?

____________

That box is tight! — STOP TALKING LIKE THAT. — What? It is!

____________

Watch this. Go say his girlfriend’s name out loud and watch his crotch slowly move up.

____________

Where are the lesbians tonight? — They’re at mass praying for all of us and Saint Tits.

____________

Where’s your mom? — She’s at home, sick. — She’s lying to you. She’s hungover because she went to the Chiefs game.

____________

No, YOU get your tubes tied! I ain’t gettin’ snipped. — Ask my aunt how that worked out for her. My uncles sperm made the jump over and she still got pregnant and almost died. True story. — Hell yeah, my fuckers can fly!

____________

He beats up his brother and calls him a motherfucker. — Oh my gosh! Doesn’t he get in trouble at school? — Shit, he’s only 5. He’s not in school yet.

____________

Hey, let’s send your dad a selfie of us. Do you think it will show up on his flip phone? Hey, we’re good lookin’! — THAT’S INCEST.

____________

I better see my name in lights on your blog after this night. — But you’re an in-law.

____________

I called 911 because my son locked himself in the house. I had to tell the operator he has Downs so they’d realize he’s not a normal 3-year-old. — How did the emergency responders gets in? — Well, they opened up the backdoor because apparently I left that door unlocked. Then the door opened where I was standing. They were holding my son and giving him high-fives.

____________

You should come down to the houseboat this summer! Here’s some pics of us last year. Here we are passed out in a circle on the top deck. — You look like a dead cult.

____________

Wait, don’t go! Find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

And don’t forget to buy my book, “But Did You Die?”

 

 

 

My date with Amy Schumer.

** Warning: This post is rated R. I’m not a G-rated writer by any means but Scott’s grandma reads this and I felt I should post a warning. It’s Amy Schumer, come on. **

I am not a lesbian.

Amy Schumer is not a lesbian either.

But that’s not going to stop me from calling Amy Schumer my date because my go-to male date was crushing on a male deer from a treestand.

Amy did everything right. She told me to put away my cell phone. She never picked up hers. She talked. I listened. She had the wit and delivery to send my ab muscles into spasms. I left wanting more.

Amy Schumer has no idea who I am. I went on a couples date but it wasn’t that kind of date. I picked up an extra 4th ticket from a neighbor when she realized she had to miss Amy Schumer’s performance in Kansas City last night.

Things I learned on my date with Amy Schumer:

1. Be brave. But if the media or your partner tells you “you’re brave” for showing your body, you have every right to kick their ass with your brave self.
2. Some – but not all – mothers of sons can’t let their sons go on a date because they want to have sex with their sons themselves. I’ve said this for years, Amy. Mothers of sons are far more intimidating than fathers of daughters. Someone write a sad country song about that.
3. The sex talk with daughters should also include the vagina smell discussion. Soup. It smells like soup. And that’s ok.
4. It really isn’t fair to be a woman. Women care too much about what others think. We need to start thinking like a man. Let things go. Don’t let body image bother you. When was the last time you heard a man ask you if he tasted ok? Never, Amy. Never.
5. Then again, it really isn’t fair to be a man either. You need to get hard. Stay hard. And do all the physical work of moving back and forth, front and back, in and out.  Women get the luxury of just laying there if they want to.
6. If you want your relationship with your partner to grow closer, travel out of the country together and hope for food poisoning. One of you can shoot military-style -MC16 bullets mixed with a gallon of shit water out of your ass. And the other can push you off the toilet so he can put his face in the porcelain bowl of death. Scott and I went to Mexico once and we can confirm it brought us closer.
7. We’re all the same stories during a drunken black out in our 20s. Or 30s. No one blacks out and wakes up in their bed next to a yoga mat and a cleaned house. No. You wake up on the floor and you can feel the hate for you radiating from your partner’s sleeping body. When he wakes up, he will tell you everything you did the night before because you don’t remember. Like how you ate a whole package of the “special gummies” even though you were told to only eat one. Then you decided to eat two sleeves of Ritz Crackers dipped in guacamole, only the “guacamole” was butter. Or baking two pizzas and slapping them together to make a sandwich. These are totally Amy’s stories, Scott’s grandma. Not mine, so not mine.
8. Amy Schumer doesn’t like the Cleveland Indians because the word “Indians” insults the Native Americans. Amy Schumer respects the Kansas City Royals for not being offensive. I didn’t mention during my date that Kansas City’s football team is the Kansas City Chiefs and they play in a stadium named Arrowhead.

Some things are better left unsaid on a first date.

___________

Wait, don’t go! Find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. 

The mask.

Boo! Gorilla.

Just kidding.

I’m not writing about the gorilla shot and killed by zoo personal because a child climbed into the gorilla’s space while the parents weren’t looking.

I not here to tell you who’s to blame for the sad story. I don’t like sad stories.

But I do like a good cry – a laugh cry. Thank you, Candace Payne. I know some of you may be thinking the opposite. Shame. No, no shame. It’s all love. It’s all love.

If you’ve never seen the Chewbacca lady then click here.

If you’ve never seen Star Wars then welcome to my village because who is Chewbacca?

I’m don’t have an infectious laugh. It’s high-pitched and girly with the occasional snort. I pee my pants sometimes and my abs will hurt the next morning from laughing.

And I’m shy. I would never speak to a video camera in my car in the Kohls parking lot. Oh, here. Let me move out of the way so you can see the deer better. They have zoo masks. Scott is going to kill me.

Whoa, whoa. I don’t mean, like, gorilla-kill-me.

But Scott did kill the deer.

I, for one, did not kill the white marlin. It’s called catch and release. The fish is made out of fiberglass from a mold of the same size.

This fish. It’s smiling. My kids are in art camp and missing out.

The cat is not missing out and now she hates my blog.

And the dog is not missing out. She hates my blog too.

I just wish Candace Payne was here to save the internet from sad stories.

I don’t like sad stories.

________

Wait, don’t go! Find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Phone dump.

Do you ever go to Vegas and get the sensation you’re being watched?

Well, you are being watched. The eye in the sky. Everyone knows that.

I don’t know what “the cloud” is but I get the sensation there’s someone up there watching, storing, and laughing behind a room of computer screens.

I got a new phone this week. The cloud saved my pictures because the cloud must know all. I pulled those pictures and saved them in the form of a blog post. My contact numbers are still floating around. I haven’t pulled those down yet.

So if you get a text from me asking, “who are you?” please don’t make a joke and say “I’m superman.”

Because I know that’s not true.

Scott and I are.

Just kidding. We’re not Clark Kent and Superman. Scott vetoed this Halloween costume but not before I got a picture of what could have been.

 

No, Emma and Kate are not mannequins either.

Mardi Gras girl? Nah.

Screw you and your beads. Tell ’em, Kate.

I just happened to catch her middle finger up. She’s not that kid.

But she is this kid hugging a bear with a latte.

Ugh. The “cloud.” Always watching. I swear we are good parents. Good people. Don’t believe everything you see on a computer screen.

Friends who know how to rhyme are always good to have around.

Well, at least the dog thinks we’re funny.

Like really funny.

I’m sorry. Scott can be mildly offensive.

A heavy flow and wide-set vagina.

Sometimes I think I am the man in this relationship.

Yes, there are women out there that love football and have a strong dislike for Alabama. And don’t even talk to me about K-State. Or the Chiefs.

Oh. He’s manned up now.

Cloud, you know how much I love that maps app. And I know Hakuna Matata means “no worries.”

I won’t worry, cloud. I have a new phone and I have a strange feeling there’s someone watching, storing, and laughing behind a room of computer screens.

Are you kitten me right meow.

Kindness. Honesty. Good manners.

The ability to make an entire restaurant explode into laughter by walking through the crowd like you didn’t do a thing.

These are qualities I want my daughters to carry on to adulthood.

Me: Oh no. Kate, you can’t bring that blanket in Cheesecake Factory.

Kate: But I’ll be so cold! Please?

Me: No. This is a nice place. No blankets. Come on.

Kate: Hold on, let me get my paws on.

Me: What?! Fine. Whatever. Blanket in Cheesecake Factory. Great. Sending this to your dad in South Florida, drinking a cocktail.

 

Text message to Scott:

Told waiter to bring me wine. Any wine. She won’t take off the cat. Waiter already laughed at her.

Kate: I need to go to the bathroom. I go by myself.

Me: No, Emma needs to go with you. Are you taking that blanket? Just leave it here.

Kate: I’m cold.

Me: Wait, let me take your picture. Ok, go.

I waited at our table. I sipped my wine and looked over the menu. A waitress walked by a waiter.

Waitress: (laughing) Hey, did you see that cat?

Waiter: No, what cat?

Waitress: There’s some kid wearing a giant cat head.

Waiter: Oh. No, I didn’t see.

I closed my eyes. Why isn’t my life filmed? It’s a blanket.

Me: Ok, girls. Find what you want to eat.

 

Me: Mmmm…my tacos are so good.

Emma: So is my pasta.

Kate: Our waiter kinda looks like Uncle Mark.

Me: I thought that too!

Kate: I want more of that yummy bread. HEY MARK! (Snap snap)

Me: Shhhh. His name isn’t Mark. And don’t snap at people. Take off the blanket! Wait, let me take your picture again. Snap one more time.

Me: Ok, take it off.

Kate: I’m cold.

Me: Find what cheesecake you want to take home.

Waiter: And I take it you want dessert?

Me: Yes! Taking cheesecake to go. I’ll have the vanilla bean. She wants a Reese’s and she wants the fresh strawberries cheesecake. Oh! And two extra cookie dough cheesecakes. It’s for our neighbors.

Waiter: Sure…the neighbors…I get it (laughs)

Kate: Meow.

Me: AH!

The waiter walked off, laughing.

Kate: I’m want to play with your phone, mommy.

Me: Ok, here.

Emma: Hey! I want to see!

Me: Here.

Kate: Give me the phone!

Me: Wait until Emma is done.

Kate: I want the phone! Mommy look at me! I had it first!

Me: Let Emma have the blanket then.

Waiter: Here is your cheesecake and feel free to pay whenever you are ready. Thank you and have a great night. (points at Kate, ripping the cat off Emma and placing it on her toy) She’s funny.

Me: Hm. Thanks.

The waiter walked off.

Me: KATE.

Kate: WHAT.

 

Me: Nothing. Let’s go.

Kate led us through Cheesecake Factory and walked through the center of a group of people waiting at entrance like she owned the place. Each person pointed and laughed.

Woman: Now THAT is FUNNY. I can’t tell…boy or girl?

Emma giggled.

Me: Girl. She’s mine.

Woman: She is a HOOT.

Me: She’s a cat.

Good night, Kate.

What traits do you hope your children carry on to adulthood? Has your child ever embarrassed you at a restaurant? Did you take pictures to prove it? How good does South Florida sound right now?

Did you put a bench in my trunk?

If you prank me, I’m going to get you back. My revenge will fail miserably and end up in a blog post.

There’s a kid around here wearing plaid and singing E-I-E-I-O on the old-new bench his parent brought home.

 

Me: Scott, did you put a bench in my trunk?

Scott: A bench? That sounds familiar. Maybe.

Me: Well, it would have been yesterday. It was within the last day.

Scott: What do you mean a bench?

Me: A bench. A child’s bench. Kinda rustic, Old MacDonald E-I-E-I-O looking.

Scott: What?

Me: Well, being the good samaritan I am, I took some of your old shirts to Goodwill tonight. When I opened my trunk, a bench was in there. Go look at it.

Scott: No. Where did this come from?

Me: I told you. I. Don’t. Know!

Scott: Text your mom.

Me: Why would my mom and dad put it in my trunk? They would put it in my house or garage if they thought I wanted it.

_____

Text message to mom: Did you or dad put a bench in my trunk?

Mom: Nope. So you leave your car unlocked?

Me: There is a random bench in the back of my car. I always keep my car in the garage.

Mom: When was your car unattended?

Me: Never. I know there was nothing in my trunk yesterday afternoon because I opened my trunk with my neighbor to see if these shutters would fit in my car. There was nothing in my trunk. Then tonight I open my trunk to fill it with Goodwill stuff and there’s a freakin’ bench in it.

Mom: Sounds like a Jayhawker.

_____

Me: Scott, it wasn’t my mom or dad. I think I believe her. I’m so confused and freaked out right now. Was our garage open last night?

Scott: No. Text your girlfriends.

Me: Why would any of my friends do that? It’s not even that funny. I can’t ask everyone if they put a bench in my trunk. It’s starting to sound dirty after repeating this in my head. “Did you put a bench in my trunk? And not that trunk.”

Scott: We’re going to find out who did this. Text them.

Me: Ugh.

_____

Text message to Heather: Did you put a bench in my trunk?

Heather: Um, no. I’m still working on finding you some chairs.

Me: Oh, ok. There’s a bench in my trunk.

Heather: Wtf?

_____

Me: Ok, it wasn’t Heather.

Scott: Didn’t you watch the game at Jeff and Theresa’s this weekend?

Me: Yeah.

Scott: Well, are you sure you didn’t get drunk and take a bench home?

Me: WHAT?! Uh, one – this appeared within the last 24 hours. Not from the weekend. I know my trunk was empty yesterday afternoon. I opened it with Christine to see if these shutters would fit inside. And, two – yes, I had a few cocktails since my soul was crushed by the K-State loss. But I know, I KNOW, that drunk me would never take a kid’s bench home.

Scott: Text Theresa.

Me: No! I’m not asking Theresa if I drunk stole a bench from their house. You text Jeff.

Scott: Text Christine.

_____

Text message to Christine: Did you put a bench in my trunk?

_____

Me: Christine’s not answering. I was with her all afternoon. She would have told me she put a bench in my trunk.

Scott: Ok. Someone had access to your car at some point in the last 24 hours. Think.

Me: Kid’s bench…it has to be trash? …….Oh. Oh no. Surely, she wouldn’t do this. Why would she do this?

_____

Text message to Carmen: Did you put a bench in my trunk?

Carmen: Well, I didn’t but…

Me: IT WAS YOU!

Carmen: It wasn’t me. It was Keith. And actually, we completely forgot about it until now. He wanted to see how long it would take for you to find it.

Me: WHAT?!

Me: Do you know how many people I asked if they put a bench in my trunk?

Carmen: We’re dying laughing…

Me: I asked my mom! She told me to stop leaving my car unlocked! Scott accused me of drunk stealing a bench from Jeff and Theresa’s! I texted Heather, asking if she put a bench in my trunk! I still haven’t heard from Christine. I asked her if she put a bench in my trunk too. Jesus.

Carmen: Dying. Keith can’t breathe. It’s trash. You can throw it away.

Me: When did he do this?

Carmen: He could have swore you saw him. You were in Christine’s house and he said you looked out the window and saw him.

Me: I remember looking out the window. But I was watching Doug take a wheelbarrow from your house. I am the most unobservant person ever. I never saw Keith near my car.

Carmen: It took him forever to load it. He thought he was caught.

Me: So I’ve been driving this thing around all day?

Carmen: LMAO

_____

Text message to mom: It was a Sooner, not a Jayhawk. Neighbor played a prank.

_____

Next morning.

Scott: What are you doing?

Me: Putting this bench front and center of our driveway. Keith and Carmen will have to drive by it before school in its full glory. Ha! Look at it! It’s hilarious!

Did you put a bench in my trunk?

_____

Scott: Have you heard from Carmen yet?

Me: No. Hmmm…actually….I think they carpool in the mornings. They probably didn’t see it. I’ll leave it for when school gets out. I know Carmen will drive by. Maybe I’ll print a life size picture of Keith. I’ll make him sit on the bench and wave. I’ll do that tomorrow. I don’t have time today.

I picked up my kids from school and pulled in an empty driveway.

GONE. The bench was gone.

_____

Text message to Carmen: Did you take the bench?

Carmen: What?

Me: I showcased the bench on my driveway for you and Keith. It’s GONE. Someone took it.

Carmen: WHAT???

Me: You said it was trash. Someone else thought so too. They took it. I can’t stop laughing at this picture.

Carmen: NO!

Me: I know! My next step was to print a real life-size picture of Keith. And make him wave to all the cars that pass by.

Carmen: No! I want the bench back!

Me: Me too!

_____

To the plaid-wearing kid – have fun with the bench your mom has in her trunk.

It would have gone to Goodwill anyway. I’m glad the bench is getting better use than a life-size man sitting and waving at cars.

 

Have you ever been pranked? Did you seek revenge? Have you ever taken “trash” from a house without asking? What is the best prank you’ve seen?

 

This is how I write.

I want to grab your attention with this sentence.

Then I start my post. As I write, I figure out what the point of the post is. It’s just rambling if there isn’t one. Sometimes I ramble.

I hit enter on my keyboard a lot.

Spaces in between sentences are easier to read. No one wants to read one long, boring paragraph. It’s hard for me to re-read. I assume it’s hard for you to read too because we’re all the same person. Long paragraphs are fine if they are written well – I’m not slamming other writers.

I don’t think I write that well. I’m just good at spacing.

See?

This is much easier to read.

And faster.

Weee! We’re flying along now!

And, uh, I write exactly how I think. Like, this is so totally the voice in my head right now.

I highlight in italics if I’m making a joke. Is this funny?

Me: And sometimes I write dialogue so I don’t have to keep using quotations marks.

Scott: And this makes you hit the enter button a lot too.

Me: Correct, Scott. It’s much easier to read like this. And stop reading over my shoulder. I can’t think with the pressure.

I hope you are still reading. If not, I least I got a page hit from you. You can’t take that back even if you think my writing sucks.

Thanks for the page hit.

I believe anyone can write like this. All I do is move words from my head to my fingertips. It’s not hard.

But it is hard. One click of the publish button is judgement. It makes me want to pull blankets over my face. It’s my Internet voice – it’s different than my in-person voice. Except the dialogue – that is exactly how Scott and I speak to each other. Scott gets to live with my Internet voice. And he seems to like me. Do you like me? Do you hate me? I shouldn’t care. I need a blanket.

I hope what I write does not bore you. I just sent this post off to my friend to read because I can’t tell if my writing is good anymore. She has no problem telling me I suck. Hi Christine! I’m rambling. I’ll stop.

The ending is the hardest to write. I try to tie it back to the first sentence.

Did I keep your attention?

This is my visual.

___________

Wait, don’t go! Find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Throwback Thursday.

Today marks Snow Day 3 for the week.

I do love a good snow day. I’m a HUGE fan of sleeping in. Sledding and shoveling leaves us exhausted. The stillness of winter is its own lullaby at the end of the day.

But the sweet memories of summer are always around if you take a quiet morning to look – ew, like 11 am morning not dawn.

…buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks…

Those Cardinals know I’m a Kansas City Royals fan. We take the high road and have a mutual respect for our teams.

So what was I talking about again?

Oh yes, Throwback Thursday. I’m taking you back to 2009. It was a warm spring night at Kauffman Stadium. Kate was only a few weeks old. Emma just turned 3.

Scott can handle two daughters and watch live baseball at the same time. He’s got this.

Ah, the sisters of comedy are always around if you look hard enough.

And you wonder why I am the way I am.

“In my 88 years on earth, I have never seen someone so blessed by a family like ours. I have never seen a family so loved by each other. I am so lucky to have each and every one of you.” — Grandma, Christmas 2013.

Don’t let Grandma fool you. Oh, she knows.

Everyone has a “crazy aunt” they have to put up with on Christmas. I have a “crazy family.” I’m not kidding you – this is how they act all the time with or without alcohol. I feel I must apologize in advance for their raunchy and inappropriate use of words in front of the kids. It’s not my style to fill my blog with profanity but I will make an exception for the family Christmas.

What that poor helpless fly on the wall heard in a neighborhood clubhouse:

Scott, is it messed up if my Grandma called me last week to see how much beer you and I can drink for the party? That’s sweet. She wanted to make sure she buys enough. — Your family has some serious issues.

There’s a 45 second over/under on when Grandma will start crying during her blessing. You in?

Is Grandma’s seat shit proof?

Why are we waiting to say Grace? — They went to get some liquor first.

Grandma, look at this picture of Emma’s deer she shot! — Oh, look at that. She shot that? Now, will the deer recover?

So Zach took a bite of my side dish in the car and spit it out. Then one of the kids tried it and spit it out. My dad said it tastes like something from the Middle East. I hope the rest of the family likes it.

So then the asshole neighbor decided to call animal patrol on us. You’re going to have to hold me back from getting drunk, picking up every piece of dog shit in my yard and making a pile on their front porch. — Hey, did you know your grandmother did that once? Left a bag of shit with a note that said “your dog is shitting in my lawn.”

AH! Who’s rubbing my shoulder? I hope you don’t have anything on your hands!

Are we going to play spin the bottle? — No, we are going to play spin Grandma.

Go give your Grandmother a kiss. — Let’s get wet, Grandma!

Wait, why is Grandma giving my unborn baby a gift? Does she think she’ll be dead next year? — Just shove the gift up your vag.

Oh, this is going way too slow. Someone help that kid open that shit.

What’d you get? — Great. Fuck you.

I think my mom just farted. — Maybe it was a queef. — What does a queef even smell like? — Like a flower. Like a deflowering. They don’t stink at all.

Hey, show Julie that picture of my mom pissing herself.

Don’t put your ballsack in my face! Jesus!

Hold on. Stop opening presents. Grandma is going to the bathroom. — Is someone going to go help her wipe?

I think Grandma grabbed a tampon out of her purse on the way to the bathroom.

Ok! Open your presents! — Let’s see how good Grandma’s gaydar is working.

I’m trying to grab his ballsack! Hold on, maybe I got the head. Have you seen his ballsack? I’m telling you, he mooned me once and they’re HUGE, like just hanging down like some sort of animal. He has the biggest ballsack I’ve ever seen. You should check them out sometime.

I’m pretty sure your husband just tongued Grandma.

Hey! There is nothing wrong with my ass! — Except it’s hairy.

That’s my wife’s seat but you can go ahead and sit here. You’re way hotter than her. — I’m your cousin.

I got an Oklahoma Joe’s gift card. You want to steal it, then come and get it. It’s in my pants.

Oh my gosh! It’s a flesh light! What’s a flesh light? It’s a vagina in a tube! Show grandma! (Grandma looks at it) Room starts chanting – TRY! IT! ON! TRY! IT! ON!

He just slapped the vagina. Is that his signature move?

Kate sure is pretty. But if she doesn’t like you, she has that “eat shit and die” face nailed down.

Where is the damn macaroni and cheese? What do you mean she didn’t make it? What kind of sister are you to tell her not to bring it? This is the only reason we invite her!

How’s the baby brewing? He’s growing good! Did you know it’s a boy? Yeah, I have a dick growing inside me.

So you can still have lots of sex right now while pregnant. But towards the end, you’ll have to cut him off. But hey, at least there is still anal.

Did you just grab him? — Yeah, I did. And there is nothing there. Same with his crotch, I grabbed that too.

I don’t want a baby that’s naked.

I don’t know where it went, but I just spit out my food.

Go fill this up with half vodka. — You didn’t even say please. — I already took “care of you” earlier.

Most gay guys are good looking, like models. You are definitely not gay.

Did you say I’m about to clear this section out? There aren’t even deviled eggs here!

I am trying to teach your daughter how to poop in here.

He’s the only nephew I can mess with. — Yeah, you took a bath with him once too.

Nice necklace. You wearing anal beads around your neck these days?

Tell me, would you put a baby boy in this outfit?

Check out last year’s. Each year they get a little bit worse – or maybe better.

Best. Homework. Ever.

Oh, I’m pumped. Emma brought home the class “pet,” Bailey. Bailey will be living with us for a week. We need to take pictures and write a journal entry on Bailey’s adventures.

Get ready for your big show, Bailey dog.

The class will learn next week that Emma’s mom is the master at sending taxidermy animals on adventures. My mind is already racing with ideas. Ready…set…RUFF!

To be continued…

 

The Rack.

Oh, Scott is going to strangle me when he reads this. He doesn’t always read my blog so maybe this will squeak by.

Well, you see … it all started with this:

Scott failed to tell me he picked up one of his deer at the taxidermist. You can imagine the shock on my face upon seeing this in the car.

Fine. Whatever. The crap I put up with.

I drove Scott to the airport after picking up Emma from school. Scott rode in the back with the girls while I got crazy looks from semi-truck drivers looking down into the passenger seat.

We get to the airport. Scott gets his things and reaches over the deer to give me a kiss goodbye.

Don’t try and move the deer in the house. I’ll call Hunter and ask him to come over and move it for you.

What? I don’t need Hunter’s help.

You’ll bang it or something. Or throw it down the stairs. I know how you are with my hunting stuff. It’s very fragile, especially the rack. Just let Hunter move it. I’ll meet you in Napa this weekend. Love you. Bye.

How dare he think I can’t handle moving it. Hunter doesn’t need to come over. I’m not that kind of woman. I can do it myself. I’ll text him a picture of the deer safely put away. Hey wait. Pictures…

Oh, this will be good.

What’s for dinner, mom?

Ooooo. Fancy table! For me?

Hey wait, that’s not Hunter is it?

“So fresh and so clean clean.”

Hey, you think the neighbors can see my rack?

What.

So, uh, animals are allowed to sit on the new couch, right?

He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he.

Night gowns!

Kids are in bed. What’ll it be?

Two Boulevard Wheats on tap, coming right up. It’s on the house.

“Memories…like the corners of my mind…”
You’re drunk, deer.

Don’t hate us, Scott!

The deer was not harmed during our little photo shoot. Wait, it’s dead. I mean, how can it possibly be harmed? Scott was the one that harmed it. Technically.

I’ll be sleeping on the couch for the next month.