Make A Wish
I haven’t written much about Jumby’s life before his arrival home with us for many reasons. The primary reason being the adoption has yet to be finalized due to the extreme sluggishness in which the wheels of bureacracy churn in these parts. The adoption officials in charge of stamping our adoption final and assigning Jumby with the Redneck surname are not keen on me publicizing some of the details of his past. So I’ve wisely held my tongue. I will continue to keep his story under wraps until I have his birth certificate with his new name in my hot little hands because I can’t do anything to jeopardize his placement into our family fold. He’s already

How I Spent Monday Morning
Perky people annoy me. Perky women are enough to want to make me find the nearest utensil, grab a rock and beat that utensil into a sharp little shank which I can drive into the eyeball of the next (usually blonde) chick who asks me how I’m doing while sporting a big smile and attempting to hug me. Perky people suck. That said, I also have no use for the dark brooding pessimist who always whines about how their glass is half empty. I see those people and I immediately want to find a box full of fluffy happy kittens and cram those pussies down their cynical little gullets. I want to beat the fatalism out of those type of people with a rainbow and the bloodied horn I tore o

Hope Floats With a Good Boob Grab
When Shale died I remember sitting in the passenger seat of our vehicle, traveling towards the funeral home to make arrangements to bury our son and marveling at all the cars we passed on the highway. The people in those vehicles carried on like nothing had happened, like no one had died. Their lives were unaffected by the tragedy my family suddenly found itself mired in, and I couldn’t wrap my head around that. Surely the world should stop and take notice of my pain, I thought through the onslaught of tears that poured down my face. My world did take notice, and I’m forever grateful to the community that held me up and kept me strong through my darkness.

Itchy Trigger Finger
This weekend, after watching a some lame arse television program (note to self: destroy all televisions within our home) my son asked me what the “little blue pill” was for. After staring at him with my mouth gaping wide open (a look that gets his father all hot and bothered) I tried telling him it was just a Flinstones vitamin. Apparently I’m either not as good at parental misdirection as I once was or my children are growing smarter than I am since he just looked at me, blinked and reminded me that children’s vitamins don’t come in blue, they come in PURPLE. He should know since he once polished off an entire bottle in a week thinking they we

Laminated
Like many happily married long time couples, my husband and I have found ourselves in bed, not having sex with each other yet happily discussing other people we’d like to have sex with if we were good looking, rich and or famous. That’s right. Why get hot and sweaty with each other when we can dream about our Laminated List. You know, the ones we’d give each other a free pass to see us naked if they didn’t call the police on us first. My husband has no problem with this game. In fact, his laminated list tends to grow in direct proportion to the increasing size of my arse. Fickle bastard. My List is pretty static. The