Picture Shenanigans: Day 1 - My family
This be my girl-child. She is generally awesome and hysterical, a tiny version of me. This picture was taken after I sat and played Barbies with her for two hours. I should take this moment to tell you that I fricking hate Barbies. Yeah, sure, I hate them in a "that Barbie is too skinny and she's dressed like a dominatrix pole-dancer" way, but I also just flat out hate sitting around playing with them. I already went through that phase in my life, didn't really love it then, and it turns out that playing with Barbies as an adult is so boring. This was one of the rare moments that I wished I had a second child solely so that I could force them into this task. Does this make me a bitchy mom? Probably, but that's not news.
This is Mr. Sty. He hates having his picture taken. I very sneakily managed to take one of the side of his face, but he figured out what I was doing and bitched and moaned. I told him that I would give him a moment to prepare for the picture, so he turned around. I then told him that the glare from the tv was making his head look like he was being beamed-up from the left and that the horrible angle made it look like he has a bald spot. (Neither of those things are true). He said "Perfect."
This is Gomer. I adopted him during a time of my life when I was overusing the word "Gomer" as an insult, despite having never seen a full episode of "The Andy Griffith Show". (And now that damn whistle song is stuck in my head.) "Gomer" was the name that the shelter had given him. My 19-year-old self freaked out when I saw this. It was meant to be. I'm pretty sure he is part Maine Coon and the lard-ass weighed about 20 pounds at the time. Since acquiring Gomer I have learned that if a cat is morbidly obese at the age of 2, there is most likely a problem, like maybe that the fricking thing is diabetic. Being the awesome pet owner that I am, Gomer went to the vet a bajillion times, started insulin shots twice daily, and threw up approximately 18 different brands of canned food on my carpet before we were on the road to "managing his diabetes". Then, I decided that I would rather be able to buy groceries and only have one mortgage than pay over $200 a month on a cat, so his diabetes is now rather "unmanaged". He's fine, we love him.
This is a pig. Probably the happiest pig on the planet. You already know him as Sparkle Pig (see right side bar). Yeah, my boy pig likes glitter. He's fancy, ok? No, I don't think about different humiliating outfits and accessories that he could wear. Shut up.
Ok, so that's the first day of my picture shenanigans. Mr. Sty just walked in and said "Ugh, are you still blogging?", but before I end this, I will share with you a typical bit of my day.
Moment of the Day:
I will preface this moment by admitting that I often will sit in the bathroom doing nothing but reading a book or magazine. It feels like the only time I can have a minute to myself sometimes. Or at least it would if my family had any boundaries whatsoever. Anyway, today I was sitting and reading Let's Pretend This Never Happened, avoiding a rousing session of "Barbie House" (the lame kind, not a version of the TV show in which miniature bimbos treat Ebola patients using only hairdryers and the candelabra from their dinette set, although that may have held my interest a bit better), when my daughter stomped down the hallway, smashed open the bathroom door and, in a very calm yet sarcastic voice (I don't know where she gets that) said "Mom. I know that you are just sitting there reading. I know you're not pooping. Want to know how I know? Because NOBODY takes THAT long to POOP!"
Dammit.
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