Gooooooood Morning Turkey!!!

i've got readers from some awesome places; Denmark, Turkey, Malaysia, China.... i feel so international and super-starry.


it's hard to write while a 7 month old baby claws at your skin, drools all over you, and attempts to scoop out your eyeball with his freakishly strong fingers.  i guess he feels like i'd make a cool pirate.  or that i'd look good in an eye-patch. he's probably a zombie. that's the more likely explanation.

Husband wants to have a thousand babies. so he can give his genes "a giant jump on the future" as he puts it.  i told him it's a tall order. too tall for a girl as short as i.  i mean, i gave him one and it nearly killed me.  i might be able to pull off two, three if he's lucky. but he's going to have to sperm-bank-donor-surrogate-lady the other 997 babies.  maybe we could hire that "19 kids and counting" chick.  she seems to have this Mass Child Creation/Production down to a science.  but i am NOT changing all those diapers. i'm much rather change the litter boxes for one thousand cats.

Uck. wait, no.  maybe neither of those.

Though I think that the worse scenario would be changing diapers on a thousand kittens.  that's way too many sharp pointy things aimed at my nurturing hands as they attempt to change the diapers.


my husband is so very helpful. he decided to aide me in dinner-making this evening. i had two steaks in the fridge that had been marinating since yesterday night, and they were good and ready for cookin.

so Husband takes them and BOILS them in OIL. boils them. 

in oil.


that was three hours ago and the house is still full of eye-stinging-poison-smoke.  my husband is trying to kill me.  and all because i gave him a teensy bit of life-threatening food poisoning during Birthiversary week.  and because I refuse to pop out the other 999 babies that he has his heart set on.

I feel like this is a very disproportionate reaction.

we now have a Mr Coffee.  i finally feel like an adult.  i've found that i rather enjoy having a cup of coffee in the morning.  well, maybe "enjoy" is the wrong word.  i'm glad that i have a drug that is legal that i can pump into my guts that will effectively counteract my exhaustion from lack of sleep due to my son's aversion to nocturnal rest. Mike says it sounds like i'm describing myself as one of The Undead. Maybe i am a zombie.  Ronin is a Zombie Baby after all. and he decided today that not only does he like to eat my chin, but he thinks it's hilarious when i eat his chin.

And now, a few letters.

Dear Rachel McAdams;

Please be my not-so-secret girlfriend.  You seem completely accessible, and i'm pretty sure that you'd think that i'm The Proverbial Shit.  So, don't tell Ryan Gosling and i won't tell Mike and we can live happily ever after going shopping for killer deals cuz i don't like spending money, and eating homemade cupcakes.

Think about it,
Krista


Dear Biscoff Cookies,

Oh tasty little lumps of love, you are divine. you were, up until yesterday, my only reason for flying Delta. my family thinks that i took airplanes to see them but you and i know the real truth.  i was just using "visiting" as an excuse to get free coffee and a package of you to dip in it.  my WONDERFUL husband got me a WHOLE big package of you for my morning coffee so that i can eat you and get all fat. well, fatter.

With shame-tainted love,
Krista



Dear Curling,

You are not a sport. If anything, you should be relabeled "Agressive Sweeping". with big marbles.

No need to argue with me,
Krista




Dear Tv Show The Biggest Loser;

You are inspiring to me.  I promise that this season that i'll be... alternatively inspired than in previous seasons. I promise to get up and move around while i watch instead of camping out on the couch for two hours eating whole pizzas and towers of oreos.  I promise to still be critical of the Bitchy Girls and laugh at the individuals who "give up" and who try to "play the game" instead of getting healthy, but i will not eat a cheeseburger whilst i do so. This way i'll feel less like a Judgemental Lard and more like a Self-Righteous SuperModel.  Hell, maybe i'll even develop a sweet case of anorexia nervosa while i watch this season.  We'll just have to see how i feel. Love you!!

Yours as long as NBC blesses us with your presence,
Krista



Dear Breastmilk,

I wish you filtered out "get skinny now" pills. because i'd love to "get skinny now". Work on that. or go away. whichever one you want, but freakin pick one.

Sincerely,
Krista


Hoffman,

Dude, i'm still mad at you for urinating over everything in my dream the other night and preventing me from getting my sexy on with two other sexies. How dare you.  Punk.

Go to hell,
Krista



y'all come back now, y'hear?