So Leigh, and my cousin, and maybe somebody else, asked me why I hate teh bunnies. If you had seen this book as a child, you’d have the phobia too. Look:
And the roots go even deeper. When I was 1, my aunt brought me an inflatable pink Easter Bunny. It terrified me. And as it happens, I have a nasty allergy to rabbits. They cause a hellacious asthma attack, the red swollen eyes of death, and if I touch the little twitchy fuckers, pretty inflamed hives.
And to illustrate my Solidarity in Bunny Hatred, I offer this, as a little Ode to Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins (and almost) Harris:
And here is Anya’s musical outpouring of disgust and loathing. If you’re not a fan the lyrics will make considerably less sense and yet remain totally hysterical.
Does this post seem a little repetitive? It’s because you read this one.
The cake is going to be one of those photo cakes from a bakery. I’m all about it- I get to design something- squee! (I’ll still bake the carrot cake for mass consumption by diabetics, babies, and mommies who are suddenly motivated to be less chunkalunk.) Here is the design for the full on sugary yum cake:
In other baby related news, we got a bag full of diaper covers and a couple of pre-folds from a co-worker for Operation Green Soft MollyButt. The plan is to try this out overnights and weekends. I need to grab some fleece to cut up for the overnights. Supposedly this should wick away alot of the moisture so she won’t wake up wet & screaming. Of course, it’s an experiment that may fail. She’s never had cloth on her silky little bum and that makes me feel sad somehow. It has to be more comfy.
I’ll know myself in a couple of days because I’m also going to try a cloth menstrual pad experiment. It’s this hip new technology I read about in the Menstrual Hut community: wash cloth folded up in well fitted panties. Hallelujah. The simplicity baffles. I’d never thought of it. I was longingly looking at this and this and bemoaning my po’ ass’s inability to buy nice cloth pads. The fabulous chica who made my sling makes them too, so when finances allow such frivolties I’ll commission some cushy new comfies that hopefully will ease the LIVING HELL that is my monthly.
I’ve been falling so hard for all those OMGZ!!!!! You don’t HAVE PMS you have PMDD it’s a DISEASE!!! BUY OUR DRUGGGGZ commercials but I’m too poor (recurring theme here) to get on fancy pills anyway, plus there’s the fact that my todddlerette nurses like a newbie still. I really think alot of my hormonal anxiety hell (as well as the good ol’ regular anxiety) will clear up when I make time to work out. When? When? When? Surely not in my precious interweb time;)
I’m giddy. My first Mother’s Day. It rocks. The Bu made me breakfast, gave me cards from him & the Boue, and an iTunes gift card. Sweet. I am very, very happy with the Mama’s Day card I made for Mamaw, my Grandma, and my aunt. And, of course, for y’all, too.
You are all (you, too, Jase- You have the bitter honor of being both parents and the fabulous honor of being one of the few men on my blogroll) so dear to me as I navigate this strange new world. Reading the straight up no makeup no niceties no editor no holds barred stories from such lovely and strong moms is such an inspiration. iGush. Have a lovely day.
… And I miss my mom. Here’s cute mom trivia: She was a WebTV addict. Her handle was Imatallgal. She was 5’11 3/4″ tall, according to her. According to actual physics and the pesky real world, she was 6′. I think that’s the most adorable nickname ever. Her e-friends shortened it to Ima. She was crazy into the chat clique. We had to get another phone line. We were in dial-up hell, of course, but this was in the dark ages of 1999 and 2000.
There was this guy in our hometown who was a few geese shy of a gaggle who drank at her favorite bar, and he called her “The Long Tall Lady of the Eastern World.” How groovy is that?
Not very extreme, but muchly a relief. Since it’s a boring makeover, I give you this*, the hair I was used to until the past year or so:
Damn. That tattoo needs its own blog. Fame-happy tattoo, stealing the spotlight from the other two. I’ll get pictures of them for you soon.
*Also serves as a blurry admonition to please hire a professional photographer to document your wedding. As my entire wedding party was comprised of excellent photographers, my less than stellar photos are cruelly ironic.
(Apologies to the NY Times and Mr. Vonnegut himself for stealing imagery.)