Monthly Archives: December 2013
This is the heartbreaking story of a woman who was so fat shamed throughout her entire life, that she went through gastric bypass surgery, almost losing her life to complications. This is sad.
Protip: FAT PEOPLE HAVE FEELINGS TOO.
Boosting the signal here. This blog needs love. ❤
We started this blog out of some general crankypantsness, but have found that people do actually want to talk about things in spouse or consort relationships. This includes people of various paths and traditions to talk about their experiences while removing their names from the equation. This is not a bully pulpit or anonabitch rants, it’s more like Enlightenment authors, who often published anonymously in order to make their work about the topic at hand, instead of about themselves. If you would like to add your voice, please email firstname.lastname@example.org. If you need to be anonymous, even to the contributors, guerrilamail.com gives temporary and disposable email addresses. Works that are submitted to spam, harass, or defame specific persons or practices will be deleted without response. Submissions that talk about the work, devotion, or navigating the pitfalls of What a Spouse Relationship Should Look Like, aka “UR Doin’ It Wrong” syndrome…
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As you all know, I have two kids. A daughter who’s ten years old, and a little boy, who just turned 7. See, I try not to do the “Mommy Blog” thing too much because there are so many mommy blogs out there, I didn’t want to get lost in the fold of diapers, spit up and drool. So I opted not to do one.
But sometimes, there is an incident in every parent’s life, that one needs to share with the world because it’s incredibly, incredibly hillarious. This is one such incident.
This morning, I was sitting down on the couch with my coffee and iPad to check my facebook and veg out while I caffinate. Today is a snow day for my kids, no school due to the twelve inch dump we received yesterday, so they were home. My daughter came upstairs from the play room, to unload the dishwasher, because it was one of her regular chores. She finished and went downstairs, and promptly came back upstairs to announce in the tell tale sing song voice of all kids everywhere when tattling on their sibling…
“Mooom, Max is stuck in the garbage can.”
I looked up from the iPad and asked her “Did you try to get him out?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, I tried, he’s stuck in there really good.”
I sighed and rose from the couch, bringing my ipad with me because this would warrant a picture or something for all of posterity. I slowly made my way down stairs, turn the corner into the play room and I see this:
My son, firmly wedged in a small black plastic wastebasket. I set my iPad down after taking the picture, and gave a few test tugs. He was wedged in there really well. His feet were flat against the black plastic, he was kneeling on the empty space below. Wedged half in, half out of the wastebasket.
I sighed, and looked at him, in an attempt not to laugh. I shot an email off to his father, telling him of my predicament with his son. His dad emailed back.
“Lay on the floor and hook your arms under his armpits and use your legs to push the can off”
I tried, and it didn’t work. I put the picture up on facebook, and got the “Lotion” and “Soap” suggestion. I attempted both and neither worked.
I was out of options. I sent a picture to Loki’sBruid and asked her what I should do. I opted to use KY Jelly. Yup. I applied the slippery water based goo to the soles of my sons soft feet. As I did that he started to giggle
“Mommy that feels good”
I lost it. I just busted a gut laughing right there. As I got myself back together, I wiped my hands off, grabbed him under the armpits one last time, because if this failed we would have to call the fire department, and gave a mighty heave.
Out popped my son from his black, plastic prison. I made him sit down while I wiped the KY Jelly off of his feet so he wouldn’t slide around and crack his head open on our laminate flooring as he madly dashed about the house. (He has two speeds, sleep and run)
Frank came home, early, because he told his superior that he was needed at home for a family emergency. Max greeted him at the door and said “DADDY! I was stuck in a garbage can!”
Frank’s only response was a shake of his head, and the immortal words of Red Foreman. “Dumbass” as he removed his military boots so he could go make himself some lunch.
That ends this part of the saga of Max the Mischief Maker
This is wonderful absolutely wonderful! Seriously, how many of us have talked this way to ourselves? I know I have.
I used to be a stripper (I’m not joking here, I seriously used to be an exotic dancer in my younger adult life) and I have this really crazy habit of saying “Yeah I used to be a stripper, now they’d pay me to get the fuck off the stage and even out of the club” jokingly.
I went to the gym and I started to feel amazing, then life, and personal excuses got in the way. I did it for me because I was tired of physically hurting from diastisis recti, (Separation of abdominal muscles usually from pregnancy, mine was from pregnancy)
Please click the link and watch the powerful video. You’ll get the feelz too.
Funny little blog post because I can and I haven’t blogged for a bit.
Where I live, there is an enforced green bin program. Meaning, we have our garbage garbage, our recycling and our organic waste all separated. We have these little green bins in our kitchens to toss our food waste and used paper towels in, and then we take them outside to the larger bin when they get full.
Today, where I live, it’s around ten below zero, centigrade. I go outside to perform the unpleasant task of emptying my kitchen green bin. I have a cold, I can’t smell, so it’s all good. (I forgot to mention it’s not a nice smell).
I put on my winter boots, I put on my thick winter ski jacket, the. I pull my toque and gloves on, just for a quick jaunt to the side of my house to dump out my little green bin.
I get to the big bin, and place my kitchen one down in the glittering snow, my breath steaming in the cold air. I reach for the handle on the lid of the bin that stands roughly chest height to my five foot frame, and pull up to open it .
I get nothing, the lid would not open. I try again with more force, then look closer. It was frozen shut. I stood there for a minute, a snotsicle slowly forming from my semi-plugged nostril, as I pondered what to do. The kitchen bin was really full, it couldn’t hold any more kitchen waste. I had to empty it. So I kicked the big green bin for about five minutes in frustration.
As I kicked, I noticed the ice that was sealing the lid, start to fall away. After the cathartic release of kicking the noxious container, I calmly lifted the previously sealed lid and emptied my kitchen bin into the disgusting container. Closing the lid, I turned to go back into the house. The snow crunched under my feet as I took my kitchen bin and myself back into my warm cozy house complete with coffee.
So yesterday I picked up some more fixings to make mead. I use http://www.stormthecastle.com/mead/fast-cheap-mead-making.htm that method because 1: it’s cheap and 2: it doesn’t require a carboy or any special equipment.
This time instead of using oranges I put some apples and cranberries, and tossed in some cinnamon, cloves and a hit of caraway.
Odin blessed it by saying “May it kick like Sleipnir and bite like Fenrir” and gave me a hug. I think He likes it when I make booze lol. Loki was all “yaaaay. This is gonna get you fucked UP!!!!”
So there it is. Making mead is devotional, cooking is devotional, doing the mundane to the best of ones abilities pleases the Gods, even if you don’t have a Godphone that has good reception if any at all.