My BFF Cunt Blogs

Continuing my incredibly stupid crusade, I see she has updated twice since I last updated. As I said in one previous entry, there is something to be said for sheer crushing volume of writing.

Some people commune with God; others converse with shampoo bottles.

I commune with my refrigerator. Specifically, the ice maker in the refrigerator.

I pulled back the shower curtain just as the last drops of a fifteen-ounce bottle of V05 made their way into the bathwater.

"Why would you do that?" I asked my son, pointing to the empty bottle.

"Because it told me to," replied the shampoo whisperer matter-of-factly.

Goddamn it's fucking scary being a kid. Everything is alive with spirits and a will of its own, or you do completely dickish things for seemingly no reason.
It's amazing as many people turn out as seemingly normal as they do.
Let's analyze the possibilities here. Either the kid thought the shampoo bottle was literally alive, which is possible since little kids believe weird shit, or he did this thing, had no motivation for doing so, and then invented an excuse.
EITHER WAY YOU'RE GOING TO LOOK BACK ON THIS LIKE YOU WERE NUTS.

A few minutes ago, Cameron woke up from his nap crying and very hungry.

Fair enough, babies are frequently hungry as I understand it.

By the time that I got to his room, Cortlen was already feeding him the crusty remnants of a bottle that he had found underneath the changing table. Yumsters!

A lot of people would dismiss this as a cute anecdote, but I, ever the over-thinker, see this as neglect.
Based off the included image, Chris is about ten.
So this kid was pitching a bitch long enough for the ten year old child to figure out he needs fed, search about (because invariably there's no food at hand because you are, after all, a neglectful parent) and locate a crusty bottle underneath the changing table. I know that's not the first place I would look for a bottle, so he had, at least possibly, been searching for a while.
Then he lifts the child out, sits down elsewhere, and feeds the child the bottle.
Ten year olds are not strong or particularly dexterous, so I imagine that it took longer for him to perform this feat than it would you, so I'm estimating at least a seven minute layover between this event and you finally doing something.

My new best friend is Lenore, the elementary school nurse. Lenore became my regular friend a few weeks ago when she sent home a note saying that she had trouble doing a lice check on my daughter, presumably because of the large rat's nest that has taken over the back of my five year-old's head.

As I understand it there's a spray product that aids in the removal of tangled hair.

My friendship with Lenore deepened over the weekend, when I received another letter in the mail, this one typed out on school district stationary and signed inexplicably in all capital letters by the nurse herself.

You should be familiar with Roman court proceedings, being a student of dark age literature.
All caps means she is speaking as an entity of the state and not as a private citizen.
I don't know how many nurses would be familiar with such matters but all right fine that is what it means.

Last month, all of the kindergartners were weighed and measured as part of the school's health and growth screening program. Lenore wanted to let me know that based on these numbers, my daughter's body mass index-for-age percentile was 88%.

Presumably that means she weighs less than 87% of people her age. Of course such information would be of relatively little use because women usually weigh less than men at nearly every age bracket save 10-14, so...

While I was grateful for this information, I wasn't exactly sure what it meant.

Gee, you're on the internet, I sure wish there was a way to locate such information!

Being either overweight or underweight can put a person at risk for certain health problems.

It is better to be underweight than overweight.

I liked the fact that Lenore had determined that my daughter was either overweight or underweight, but left it up me to guess which one.

At this point I assume she's being cute and I'm supposed to be laughing, but it is devoid of anything I would call a punchline.

Normally, I would think that having a BMI in the 88th percentile wouldn't be a particularly good thing, but then again, if my daughter was ground beef, being in the 88th percentile would be considered quite lean.

Holy shit it took you... One, two... Five paragraphs to get to that as your punchline? These aren't like sentence paragraphs like on my blog, either. These are fairly large blocks of text.
Jesus Christ how does that even happen? What has to be wrong with you where that passes as funny?

Yesterday, in the mall parking lot, I hit the bridge of my nose on my car's trunk door (don't ask).

I'm not going to ask because that implies I care, but you are a dumb klutz.

The cut took over an hour to clot,

Oh hi I didn't know my mom was posting this. (SHE READS THIS SO SHE'LL GET IT. HI.)

Helping out people who don't help themselves is a special hobby of mine, along with investing in pyramid schemes and collecting pen pals from Nigeria.

Most people would call "helping people who don't help themselves" charity but all right, fine.

A few weeks ago, I broke out of my warm and snugly hermit shell (where I was very happy I might add) and invited the woman's daughter to our house for a play date.

All right before you start with the WOE IS ME I AM A MARTYR FOR MINE LORD I would like to point out you invited her.

I hoped that the woman would stay in her car during the drop off, or better yet, just deposit her offspring on the curb, but no such luck:

Good parents often want to make sure they aren't handing their "offspring" as you call them (I prefer spawn or brood, but okay, not bad) to child pornographers.
At least I think. I don't have a lot to go off of here since I don't have children of my own, but I seem to recall my parents doing similar things and I imagine I'd do it for any child I'd have.

Even though the woman made me feel like a prisoner in my own home, I felt really bad for her and decided after she left that I would try to do something nice for her family.

"I felt really bad for her"
MISTAKE ONE.
"I would try and do something nice for her"
MISTAKE TWO.

Over the next few days, I mustered together a small army and together we secretly stocked the woman's fridge and bought her kids several Christmas presents.

"I involved others"
MISTAKE THREE.

We all felt good about our good deed.

"We all felt good"
MISTAKE FOUR.

I felt even better about our collective acts of service the day after Christmas when the mom called me with the good news that she had just bought a 60" big screen television set.

Tim thinks I should do the nice thing and volunteer to watch their tabby with IBS so they can enjoy their new home theater in peace. I'm seriously thinking about it.

Psych.

SHIT HIGH FIVE YOU SURE-- wait, no. You got taken.

"Every single thing in this room has to be clean before you can come out," I said while closing the door."
My kids took my instructions literally and dipped every single crayon we own into a bottle of Purell.

Well according to what you said that was what you were asking. Had you said "put away everything" or "pick up everything" that would have been closer to what you actually meant.
Think of it like a language class. If on a test you were asked to translate "put your shit away" into Spanish and you wrote "clean your toys" you'd be marked wrong.

Last week, my elderly friend gave each of my children two crisp one dollar bills for Christmas.

Why, you can buy-- buy-- Uhh. You can open a savings account and in five years buy a candy bar?
It's the thought that counts, though, okay.

Cortlen beamed..that is, until he saw Kellen's selection.

"I want that," said Cortlen, pointing at the remote controlled robot dog. "Let's trade."

Kellen, who hates confrontation and will do anything to please his siblings, would have handed the dog over to his brother if I hadn't intervened.

Which one had the fury of Ares in his chest or whatever?
Yeah it was Christopher. My statement stands.

"Oh no you don't," I said, pulling Cortlen away from the dog.

Cortlen screamed the entire way home.

This is where the Spartans would train their children to wait until an opportune moment and steal the dog, but I don't think children are trained like that anymore.
Probably best. Opportunistic people are usually called dicks, or CEO.

"I want that dog so baaaaad!" he cried.

Kellen had seen his brother suffer enough. He asked me if he could give Cortlen the dog.

Although Kevin is altruistic and sympathetic to the suffering of others. I guess that means he has... The... Heart of Apollo? I don't know this analogy is getting a bit tangential now.
God of healing and medicine, you know.

"Why don't we ask the dog who HE wants to live with?" I suggested.

Cortlen clapped his hands with excitement.

With the push of a button, the dog let out a loud bark.

"He picked Kellen," I translated.

Cortlen threw himself off the couch...but not before I snapped a picture.

I'm sure there are any number of things you could do or say to alleviate this or at least teach a beneficial lesson, but I guess taking pictures of your child suffering for the sake of your own amusement and the amusement of strangers on the internet is reason enough to do something.

200: number of my husband's former classmates who will hear through the alumni grapevine how well we are handling four children.

Huh, so that's what happens to some people in college. They make 200 friends.
I can count on one hand the number of friends I've made in college.
Oh well guess I'll have to settle for 120% on tests.

0: number of

PEOPLE WHO CARE ABOUT THIS.

3: number of children who asked me with a straight face if they could have ice cream when we got home.

Yes. Yes you can.

His most recent round of IVIG and RBC transfusions gave him a much needed boost. However, Cameron's most recent labs show that the virus is starting to attack his bone marrow again, albeit at a slower rate than before.

If I were Kevin's parent I would probably show him this shit and explain to him who doctors are and what they do, because I'm guessing someone who "would do anything to please his siblings" might be interested in things like that.
You know instead of guiding your children to being petty douche bags I'd take their natural gifts and guide them to being CEOs and doctors.
You know, successes.

The other night my phone rang at 8:30pm. Normally I wouldn't pick up at such an ungodly hour, but I didn't recognize the number, so of course I did.

>8:30 PM
>ungodly
wat.

"I have a rectal fissure!" whispered the raspy voice at the other end.

I'm still laughing. I wish I could receive a call like this.
DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY FISTING JOKES I'VE COME UP WITH IN THIS PAST 30 SECONDS?

The woman on the line identified herself as a friend of a friend of a friend from the community pool. I had never officially met her, but I remembered her gold lamé swimsuit. She had heard through the grapevine that I was an expert in bleeding butt ulcers and wanted to meet in person to discuss hers.

"Really? Call a doctor." That would be my serious advice, after "maybe stop starring in so many anal fisting pornos."

Last night, a sweet reader sent me an email asking for your thoughts and prayers.

I don't have either of those things.

In an attempt to mix things up a little bit, I suggested that the experienced crafters write messages to their parents on the pieces of paper.

"What nice things does your mom do for you?" I asked the guests.

Christ all mighty they're trying to hang out, can you please make this less like school?

In addition to taking piano, oil painting, horseback riding, ballroom dance, and Chinese language lessons, Camber also plays the violin on a third grade level.

Well la-de-fucking da, lady. Also aren't you the woman who said on TV that your children "aren't special, but profoundly normal"? That sounds rather gifted if you ask me.
I want you to look up the painting "Cornelia Pointing to Her Children as Her Treasures" by Angelica Kauffman and study it for a long while. I think it'll make you a better parent.
WHAT, YOU KNOW BETTER THAN THE WIFE OF EMPEROR TIBERIUS? I DON'T THINK SO, TREASONOUS HARLOT.

He also inherited the family genius genes.

Yeah right. You may be smart but I'll tell you one thing you don't have:
WISDOM. GODDAMN.
All right that's it. That's what I have for today.
I think Friday it'll be back to business as usual, but to quote the Ordinators from Morrowind, "Go about your business, but we'll be WATCHING you. Scum."
That's right, I'm officially opening THE MEANEST CUNT WATCH for business.
Expect periodic updates on this.