It's Getting Bigger!!

I'm getting really excited about having my 20 week ultrasound. I'm of the group of parental type folk that would like to know what the sex is before the baby is born. The way I see it- it's only going to be a boy or a girl. No surprise goats or butt probing aliens in this belly. I just like to be prepared.

So every week I visit this fancy page to find out what the one who kicks me, makes me feel sick and tired, forces me to eat litres of rollo icecream after a bucket of KFC and wakes me up 6 times a night to go potty, might be lookin' like.

This is what my little poker might look like now, at week 17.

Get Off, Put Off or Fuck Off

So what happens when you procrastinate masturbating??

My Shit Don't Stink

The strangest ideas come to me when I'm at work. There must be something about the methodical chopping and stirring that gets my weird wheels going. Ok, so I'm always borderline. What's it to ya.

So here I am feeding the chickens (aka spicing steaks) when my quiet thoughts are blown right out of my hair follicles by the heavy clangs of a stack of empty, metal pans meeting the tile floor. I'm sure my heart has suffered some damage. That was so friggin' loud! And the guy that did it didn't even flinch. So he picks the pans up and then makes his way to the fridge. He returns with an empty metal cart. As he shoves it along, toward the prep counter to pick up his handy work, it shakes violently and makes an aweful racket not too unlike that of a jack hammer. I need to cover my ears because I'm sure they're already bleeding. Yet again, he seems completely unaffected.

So here's where I start to wonder. Why is it that the noise is louder when you're not the one making it? And does this have anything in common with your own crap never being as vile as someone else's crap? Is it a mental preparedness? An acceptance of one's own actions but in turn having no tolerance for the equal actions of others?

If I ever take another psych course I'm doing an essay on this phenom.
But my bet is, noone will find it quite as riveting as me.

When I Grow Up...

Everyone wishes and dreams of what they want to be when they grow up. I suppose some of us are still wishing-myself included. So here is a list of things I've wanted to be from small me to now me.

10~ a host on Polka Dot Door

9~ a bank teller

8~ a rock star

7~ a movie star

6~ a writer

5~ a nurse

4~ a personal chef for someone rich and famous

3~ a mommy (this one came true :o))

2~ a dancer

1~ a lottery winner (cmon who the hell doesn't???)


...and after reading the kindergarten list I'd have to add mom nurse to my list (how friggin cute is that!)

now it's your turn...

Ode to Pinchy

I'm in the mood for love
simply because you're near me.
Funny but when you're near me,
I'm in the mood for love!

Oh pinchy,
when we first met several years ago
I had no problems stabbing you in the head
and then flipping you around
and repeating this process through your belly;
discarding of your tomale and roe.
How you would squirm and scream
(even though it fell on deaf ears)
and continue to flinch and flail
even after your brain had been sliced in two.
But once you were steamed
you were so darned tasty
all dipped in warm, drawn butter.

And now,
I am with child
and there is something just horribly wrong
about torturing you so
(although you truly are succulent
and so leaving you live is a bit of a conundrum).
So, my dear pinchy,
your life for now is spared-
at least by me
because someone has to kill you
and sell you for $20 a pound
to the hungry seafood freaks
who eat you without a second thought.
Thank god you only have 100 thousand pain sensing neurons,
as compared to the 100 billion that I have.
Maybe that's why you move me so.

With all my neurons,
K.