Too many people are dumb-asses...Seriously

Alrighty then, let's go through this AGAIN for the terminally brain dead. Not every email you receive in you box is true or accurate. Just because there is a name and phone number at the bottom does not mean it is true. ANYONE could look up a name and number and add it to make it look official. You should check the shit out before you forward a bunch of lies to people.

Listen, if you do not know by now that gang members are NOT driving around without headlights on Friday and Saturday nights waiting to be flashed so they can hunt you down to kill you as an initiation YOU ARE AN IDIOT! Not only that, but if you actually used your head and thought for just one FRIGGING second you would say, "Hey, if that were true, it would be all over the news." Hmmmmmm, people, stop sitting on your brains and try using them.

As for Martin Luther King, yeah, some of that stuff is true, but just enough to make it look credible. The rest is a pack of lies. The place is called SNOPES. Try checking on the veracity of the shit you send out before you flood my email. Mkay?

And yes, McDonald's imports some of their meat. WHY? Because their demand cannot be filled by the American ranchers. They HAVE to buy from outside of the U.S. or else you won't be able you purchase heart attacks on a bun. And don't worry, you aren't eating WORM meat either!

You people who not only believe this crap, but send it out, need to be slapped.

You piss me off.

You're stupid.

Fuck off.

Several large trash bags.

That's what I will be taking to the dump and to donation. WHY? Excellent question! I asked my sons to clean their room. Without going into too much detail, that request was followed by 45 minutes of whining and complaining and arguing and fighting becasue no one wanted to clean the mess. When I was finally told to go inspect, stuff had been shoved into the corners, under chairs and in the closet. I think the topper though was when...

Bear, please sit down...

I walked to the other closet and found this brown stuff on the floor. What was it? Shit! It was dried shit! You see #4 has gotten into the habit of waiting until the very last minute to go to the bathroom and his shit fell out his pants all over the floor. In an attempt to clean it up without mom finding out, he rubbed it into the carpet.

No.
One.
Told.
Me.

And now it is dried and crusted in the carpet. I will do my best to get it out, Bear.

So, amid tears, they have to take EVERYTHING that is not in its place and throw it away. And there will be no more. They are now on lawn bag #4...

I. Am. Tired.

I am tired of being tired.

That said, I've not been in much of a mood to blog. I'm not much in the mood to read other people's blogs either. Truth is, I spend most of my day just trying to keep my eyes open.

I.
Need.
Someone.
To.
Buy.
My.
Other.
House.

Blah...blah...blah...

HEY! Did I tell y'all that I rode in and then drove a tractor?! Didn't think so. Here's a handy dandy picture.


We were pulling a brush hog (giant grass cutter for really tall weeds and hay...if you fall in, you're dead). Isn't it a nice purty red??? Real tractors are red. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. But no matter what color they are, I get tickled every time I see one driving down the road.

I need a goat. This is a Nubian goat. Isn't it cute??? Goats eat brush for you so you don't have to clear it out yourself. They eat thistles and thorny brush without hestitation. Cool. I've had several people tell me to get one goat with a long chain and then move the stake every few days to clean out all around my house and some of the brush under the trees in the fields that we couldn't bushhog. I think goats are cute. I wouldn't mind haven't one. I have a barn it could stay in when it got real cold. I could just stake her right in the middle and feed her during the winter. Yahhhhhh...I want a goat.

Alrighty, I'm gonna go make dinner before I fall asleep.

My altar...

A Day in the Life of Krystal in the Kountry

Children of the Corn

We have a corn field next to us. I was walking past it a few nights ago at late dusk when I thought to myself, "Hey, that corn is so high that someone could hide in it." Then I remembered that Stephen King story "Children of the Corn". It creeped me out. I had to force myself to keep my normal walking pace and convince myself that no one was going to jump out of the corn and chase me down with a scythe or sickle.

THE corn field of THE children

When I was safely past the corn field, I looked around at the dense trees and brush that now engulfed me. While walking between them in the now total darkness, I heard the night creatures rustling the grasses and leaves. A new thought came to me: Someone could have tracked me through the corn, ducked behind the barn and then darted into the woods right beside me!

Where the critters hide. At night it's creepy alone.

I start telling myself, "Stop being such a woman! Get it together!" Just then, as though on cue, a bat dive bombed my head! I kid you not! I covered myself with my arms, ducked and screamed.

I ran up the rest of that hill to my house and locked the door behind me.

The End

Who else does NOT know what the heck "prada" is???

What I do while IM-ing with a friend...

Things you should know:

1. When you're boiling eggs, if you forget they are there and let all of the water boil away, the eggs will explode with a loud pop. This makes a mess. But it was so funny that the kids and I watched another explode.

2. If you feed a dog watermelon, they get diarrhea. This makes a mess. It is not fun to clean up. That's why I made the kids do it (HEY! They're the ones who fed the dog mellon in the first place.)

3. And this is what it looks like to drive behind a covered wagon:

So it's 5:30 in the morning and I'm at the computer. Why oh why would Miss Krystal be on the computer at this way too early time of day? Because of the new bed we bought.

It feels EXACTLY like a Tempur Pedic, but is better made and costs a lot less. AND IS JUST AS FIRM, which the lady assured me up one side and down the other that it is not. She said it felt NOTHING like a Tempur Pedic and that it was super ultra soft. NO WAY could this mattress be considered firm. Lying bitch! Anyway, there was this awesome review online and I checked up on the award they'd been given by the orthopedic association. Sounded like a good idea, and if I liked Tempur Pedics it would have been awesome because you save a nice chunk of money buying it directly from the manufacturer.

I. Will. Never. Do. That. Again.

They ask to give them 48 hours before deciding on whether or not you like the mattress. I've given them a full week. My back hurts like it always does on too firm of a mattress (BTW, three of the children described it as firm and my daughter described is as "hard"). I don't know how on this planet people sleep on firm mattresses! I went to bed a little after midnight last night. Between then and about 5:15 this morning I woke up NINE TIMES with an appendage "asleep" and tingling or a severe aching shoulder (all caused from pressure points from a firm bed). The last two times I had buzzing in my head to go with the asleep arm, leg, aching shoulder, whatever. That's an average of once every 38 minutes. And of course I have to find another position and wait for my limb to stop tingling or the ache to subside before falling back to sleep, so it isn't like I actually slept for 38 minutes inbetween. This can only happen with pressure points, which aren't suppose to exist on memory foam types of beds.

Anyway, it's been a week and it is getting worse instead of better as time goes by.

Today I will have to go out and find a twin sized mattress to fit into our bedroom next to the king sized bed that I'd like to douse with lighter fluid and throw a match on (after hauling it outside of course so the entire house didn't go up in flames). I swear to you, I slept better on the blow up Aero mattress than I do on this super firm POS.

Soft my ass! As compared to what? CONCRETE?!?!

Happy Father's Day, Daddy.

I sure miss you,

And it doesn't hurt any less

the longer you're gone.

My heart still aches

and I still cry,

for you.

I would like to know G-d's purpose for chiggers. Anyone? I have them...on the sides of my breasts and under my breasts. I suppose that's better than my crotch.

OH! Like the sunburn? Ain't it purdy??? Just another reason for me to play with my own tits...I mean scratch my breasts uncontrollably. I'm just really grateful that I chose to go to the lake to sunbath instead of laying out topless in my backyard like I had considered.

For those who are cocking your head sideways in confused, that is my cleavage. I know that many of you are use to the purky breasts of women who have not had children or the purky breasts of women who have been sucked, tucked and stuffed. I do not fall into either of those categories. My once "bodacious ta-ta's" (as they were called in high school) have sustained five little lives for a combined six years of breast feeding. That makes them bodacious in a different kind a way...a way that says purky breasts are NOT the end all.

And of course I don't have to worry about a stray needle popping one of them either.

Anyone remember those old Idaho Potato commercials? Well, for some reason, "Heigh-ho, I'm from Idaho!" popped into my head a few minutes ago. Then I happened to think how poorly the same one-liner would go over today: "Hey, Ho! I'm from Idaho!" First, calling people a "Ho" these days isn't too bright. Second, who gives a rat's ass where you're from? Just a random thought from a chigger ridden, sun baked brain.

My dog has gas. I. Think. I. Might. Get. Sick.

Bear's been here... Krystal did a very good thing for him last night...well a few good things for him last night...

My work here is finished.

Squirrel goes berserk at church

A Day in the Life of Krystal in the KountryThis is a woodchuck, AKA a groundhog.

So why am I posting a picture of one? Because I had one of these suckers run out in front of my van yesterday afternoon. I screamed and slammed my breaks! The cute little guy ran under the van between the front and back axles (while it was still moving) and made it through to the other side UNSCATHED. He was a quick li'l critter!

Of course, I wasn't sure if he was alright or not immediately. I didn't see a smooshed corpse in the road, but for all I knew the cuddly little thing made it across the road and then dropped dead of a heart attack upon reaching his destination. Or maybe I just hit part of him and he was able to make it across the country road through shear momentum. I had to make sure, for peace of mind you know. I didn't want the guilt of taking this brown fuzz ball's life for no reason. I don't mind killing an animal for food. That's okay. However, killing an animal and leaving it is not okay. I really REALLY wanted this animal to not be hurt. I wasn't in the mood to scoop up roadkill, I don't know how to skin a woodchuck, and I have no recipes for Road Kill Stew. So I made a five-point-turn (that's what it takes in a gas-guzzling vehicle like mine on a back country road) so I could check. I didn't see him anywhere. So now I'm driving a ways in the opposite direction I need to go in so I could find an area of road that's straight and not curving and isn't between hills so I could turn around again without fear of being rammed by a speeding pick up truck, of which there are plenty.

And most of them are red.

Eventually I found a place to turn my vehicle around. I was totally THRILLED upon my return to find the sweet thing eating on the side of the road. The groundhog was fine. WHEW! I really needed to know that or else I would have worried all night about the poor thing. He was so adorable! He did take off once he recognized my huge mammoth mode of transportation coming back at him. I guess he figured that The Thing almost got him once and he wasn't taking another chance at "Crossing the Road Russian Roulette". THE THING is a formidable opponent (or so the tale goes with the lovable fury woodland creatures). I was happy to watch him run off into the woods nearby knowing he was going to be okay.

I truly hope that your day is a little brighter now that I've shared a wee bit of joy from A Day in the Life of Krystal in the Kountry.

What's wrong with Mr. & Mrs. Smith???

Why am I bringing this up? For two reasons: First, I almost died a couple weeks ago when my son called our minister by his first name. Second, people wonder why today's youth has a respect issue when it comes to adults. Well hell! Maybe it's because they call us by our first names! That puts us on the same level. DUUUUUUHHHH! It's not frigging rocket science here.

Growing up I called adults by their last name. It showed respect. My best friend's parents were Mr. and Mrs. "Smith" until I was THIRTY. I want to know what is wrong with that? Why am I "Miss Krystal" instead of "Mrs. Kelly" to a five-year-old? I even had a neighbor once tell my children to call her by her first name ONLY. Uh, NO! My children were instructed that at no time were they ever to call an adult by their first name alone...EVER. People say, "Oh, they need to feel comfortable with you." No, they need to remember that they are FIVE and I am NOT their little friend. I'm an adult and they are NOT on my level.

Children do not need to call adults by their first names to have some sort of "feeling" for adults anyway. I never did, and I had several adults that I felt really comfortable with. Now, we had a few friends who were like family to us. They were "Aunt" and "Uncle" So-n-So. But I NEVER called any of my parent's friends of my friend's parents by their first names. Besides that, I don't think that it's smart to let a my son's teenage friends feel "comfortable" with me as an adult anyway. I want them to have a certain fear and respect for me. AND I want them to know that if there is a problem, I'm not their little buddy, I'm an adult and I can handle the situation.

I don't particularily like being "Miss Krystal". I should be "MRS. KELLY". And I want to know what the problem is with that. Because I don't see one.

Because the Diva requested it...

Your Stripper Song Is

Closer by Nine Inch Nails "You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you Help me I broke apart my insides, help me I?ve got no Soul to tell" When you dance, it's a little scary - and a lot sexy.

What Song Should You Strip To?

Because Sonia requested it...

Ten of life's simple pleasures.

1. Being held in my Bear's arms.

2. Making love to my Bear.

3. Dancing for my Bear.

4. Holding my babies.

5. Feeling my babies kick when they were still inside me.

6. Breastfeeding.

7. Being nekid.

8. Holding a pet.

9. Walking in untouched nature.

10. Eating in food someone else cooked knowing that someone else will clean it up.

I need help...

I need suggestions of amazingly seductive and sexy music to strip to. I'm looking for songs along the lines of Those Shoes (The Eagles), Reefer Head Woman (Aerosmith) and Dazed and Confused (Led Zeppelin). If you have any suggestions, please let me know. If you aren't familiar with these, you can find them at Barnes and Noble.

Thank-you!

Your Deadly Sins

Lust: 60%

Gluttony: 20%

Sloth: 20%

Envy: 0%

Greed: 0%

Pride: 0%

Wrath: 0%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 14%

You'll die of a yet to be discovered STD.

How Sinful Are You?

That was fun.

Alrighty then...someone explain how I can live in a place where people own horses like most of the country owns dogs, and yet there is NOT a country-western wear store within a two hour radius? Someone explain that irritating fact to me. Even more absurd is that in Ft. Lauderdale, I could have found a dozen within an hour's drive.

I was hit on while Bear was visiting. This is riveting...

He Says: Nice hat.

I Say: Thank-you.

He Says: Do you like country music?

I Think: Let's see, blue jeans, cowboy hat, cowboy boots, you're a fucking brain.

I Say: Yes, I do.

He Says (with a nod of the head, a semi-wink and half smile): Ever hear of the song, "Save a horse. Ride a coooow-booooy"?

I Say: Yes.

He Says: Where you from?

I Say: The Mall. With my husband and five children.

***Now let me tell you, the husband part doesn't always work, but the five children part can cool even Clinton's jets.***

He Says: Well that's nice. Real nice. You have a good evening then.

I Say: Thank-you.

A startling discovery!

I was up late Saturday with insomnia so I watched Talk Sex with Dr. Drew. Cuz hell, the bed is empty, why go? Anyway, they had this woman on who had plastic surgery on her vajayjay. Who knew this was done? I must admit, my interest was peaked. It's true. Women all over the country are having plastic surgery on their cooters. Here you can see the before and after pictures of vaginoplasty. Here you can see before and after shots of labiaplasty.

Of course, having had five children, I began to wonder. Is my cooter shot, too? Surely my kitty doesn't look like THOSE...things!

I am pleased as punch to report, that with the help of my handy-dandy hand held mirror, I can confirm that MY kitty doesn't look ANYTHING like those before shots. I have a pretty kitty that looks amazingly like the after shots. That's because I live for keigels. Lucky Bear!

I'm going to bed now. Kisses to you all!

Some friends of Bear's and mine, that we knew in Florida, invited us to a cookout last night. Her parents have a lakehouse just fifteen minutes away. We had fun, ate hot dogs, roasted marshmallows in a bon fire next to the Lake. It was nice to see them again.

I had a dream last night about my Daddy. He's never in my dreams. I wish he were. I dream about him and his things. Last night he had died. There was an office with his things in it were I could go there to see them. I just wanted to see his handwriting. I go in and they were cleaning it out. They had his filing cabinet with his handwritten tags in the slots and the drawers were falling open for me. I reached forward and pressed the lock button to keep the drawers and everything all inside. Then I suddenly realize that I don't have a key to open Daddy's precious filing cabinet. I woke up crying.

Now I have a serious headache.

The observants ones would have already noticed that I've changed my picture. Yes, I have a bit of exhibitionist in me. I'd probably post the really awesome nude shot of me, but Fred might go blind and Bear would be...well...a lot less than happy.

***But I have this most AMAZING shot by the fire place.***

Over 4,000 visits ...

I *AM* loved!!!

Krystal got laid last night!!!

It is indeed time for celebration. We went on last night for two entire uninterrupted hours. See, Bear snuck in and I already had the kids tucked up in bed and they didn't know Daddy was coming. He snuck up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist and yessssssss, Daddy was home. And Mommy's REEEEEEEEAAAAAALLLLLL happy!

Make up sex is great, but this we've-been-apart-too-fucking-long sex is just in a class by itself. We're talking multiples here, people. Amazing, wonderful, huge, repetitive multiples.

Yeah, my Bear is home until Wednesday and we have lost time to make up for. Lots and lots of lost time...

Donations of new unused condoms still in their wrappers may be sent to:

Bear and Krystal
#69 Bend Over Drive
Do Me Now, Kentucky 69069

This post is dedicated to The Blog Whore, who appears to have the same mother I do. I say we sends these lyrics on over to our mothers, babe! The name of the song is "Get Over It" and it's by my favorite band, the ~E~A~G~L~E~S...


I turn on the tube and what do I see
A whole lotta people cryin' 'Don't blame me'
They point their crooked little fingers ar everybody else
Spend all their time feelin' sorry for themselves
Victim of this, victim of that
Your momma's too thin; your daddy's too fat

Get over it
Get over it
All this whinin' and cryin' and pitchin' a fit
Get over it, get over it

You say you haven't been the same since you had your little crash
But you might feel better if I gave you some cash
The more I think about it, Old Billy was right
Let's kill all the lawyers, kill 'em tonight
You don't want to work, you want to live like a king
But the big, bad world doesn't owe you a thing

Get over it
Get over it
If you don't want to play, then you might as well split
Get over it, Get over it

It's like going to confession every time I hear you speak
You're makin' the most of your losin' streak
Some call it sick, but I call it weak

You drag it around like a ball and chain
You wallow in the guilt; you wallow in the pain
You wave it like a flag, you wear it like a crown
Got your mind in the gutter, bringin' everybody down
Complain about the present and blame it on the past
I'd like to find your inner child and kick its little ass

Get over it
Get over it
All this bitchin' and moanin' and pitchin' a fit
Get over it, get over it

Get over it
Get over it
It's gotta stop sometime, so why don't you quit
Get over it, get over it

My Morning Wal-Mart Adventure

I had to hit Wal-Mart this morning because I have a couple children with colds and I needed to get some vitamin C and a few other suppliments as well. Things were great. I went through check out, no waiting (way cool). Then I head over to customer service to return a package of card stock (customer service opens at 7:00 so I did my shopping first).

I get in line behind this man who has about twenty various small hardware items to return...from four different receipts. Of course he hasn't sorted which items go with which receipt so the girl behind the counter has to find each and every one. Yeah. Then he wants to purchase two other little things. Then he wants a gift card.

I'm standing behind him these TEN MINUTES with more people gathering and he has a conversation with the girl that goes like this:

Guy: Money transfers from Wal-Mart? How does that work?

Girl: You can have us transfer money from this Wal-Mart to any other Wal-Mart for another person to pick up.

Guy: How convenient. Everyone waits around for a Western Union and not everyone has one.

Girl: Yep.

Guy: So I can come here to shop and send money anywhere then?

Girl: Yes you can.

Guy: And someone else can pick it up?

Girl: Yes

I'm Thinking: No, you have to fly there and pick it up yourself, dumb-ass.

Guy: So, if I wanted to send money to someone in say, Florida, I could do that?

Girl: Yes, you could.

I'm Thinking: Yes, dumb-ass, she said ANY freaking Wal-Mart. That would include such incredibly remote places like Florida as well. Now why don't you ask about other distant places like California, Hawaii and Alaska while the rest of us STAND BEHIND YOU AND WAIT, dumb-ass. We have nothing better to do with our day.

Guy: That's pretty convenient. Thanks!

And he leaves all excited because he can wire money from Wal-Mart. It totally made his day.
I'm so freaking thrilled I can hardly stand it. Now please, just do my one return from my one receipt with three items on it so I CAN GO HOME. Thank-you. Now have an average day.

Well, this Bitch has had enough!

You see, I've asked my children repeatedly not to stomp around upstairs. They were told that the next time they did it they would walk the length of their room 100 times quietly so I don't hear them below. They didn't believe me. This morning they were thudding on the floor so hard that the candle sticks in my bedroom were vibrating. The two younger boys are walking it now. If I hear them and they are on number 99, they have to start over at one.

My second son pissed his pants again last night. Now if I promise a present in the morning or give him a gold dollar, he'll wake up dry 95% of the time. If he goings to get something, he'll wake up in the middle of the night and go to the bathroom. But if he isn't getting something, he just pisses and has me do his laundry.

This is unacceptable. He's nearly eleven.

He is now writing five pages front and back, "I will not pee my pants at night." Think it's mean? You come do his frigging laundry and replace the damned carpet. Yes, he has ruined carpet. After he pissed his sheets, he simply moves to the floor. Then he pisses there as well. All because he doesn't want to get his lazy ass out bed at night.

But we are not finished for my morning! ONCE AGAIN, there are clothes and shoes and toys, belonging to the three younger boys, all over their room and bathroom. They also get to write for that. And we have a rule in this house, "if you don't work, you don't eat." Well, they didn't have their work done before breakfast, so the kitchen is now closed. They have to complete their punishments and catch up with school before snack, or they miss that as well. Same goes for lunch, afternoon snack, dinner...

Not that any of this is a surprise to them. I've been telling them this would happen. They've missed dinner before because of their bedroom being a mess. I'm not going to yell any more. I'm tired of asking politely. I'm all out of nice from asking for the same thing over and over again. I sound like a broken record. **I wonder if today's youth know what that phrase means....** Anyway,

This. Is. The. End. Of. It.

My Bear is coming!!!

Which is good because I need someone to take sexy pictures of me for my new icon. I have a few awesome nekid pictures BUT I think that Bear would be pissed and Fred would go blind. Soooo we'll just have to see what we come up with while he's here.

I'm so happy I could pee my pants!

I've been turded.

Yes, Gordy the chicken dropped shit on my light blue sweater while relaxing on my shoulder. 'Nough said.

You Are a Coy Flirt

You may not seem like you're flirting, but you know exactly what you're doing. You draw people in, very calculatingly, without them even knowing. Subtle and understated, you know how to best leverage your sex appeal. A sexy enigma, you easily become an object of obsession.

What Kind of Flirt Are You?

I need a new picture... I'll think about that...

Hey! The Eagles. Hands. Freaking. Down. It always comes down to them. You know, I like Zepplin and Aerosmith (close second man...tough choice), Lynard Skynard and George Thorogood, but I always come back to the Eagles, man. I really like these guys. They're the Eagles! Yeah!

They're truly vercital. They have drinking music, smoking music, sexy stripping music, dirty stripping music, grinder stripper music, music for making love, playful sex or just flat out screwing. You can use it to chill out or to pump yourself up when the juices aren't flowing. When I listen to the Eagles I can feel the music. It's freaking great...

Hey, I know the Eagle's weren't there, but I think I would have enjoyed Woodstock. Hey, Bear! tell me, you think I would have enjoyed it? Wait...Maybe I was there. Maybe I did run around naked in the rain for three days. Maybe I'm having pastlife memory, Babe. That's why I like Yoga and meditation. Could've done free love. I'm damn good at that. All these great memories...and none of them are mine. Oh, hey.

But back to the Eagle's. Awesome. That's why I'm need to order Selected Works: 1972-1999, with the extended LIVE version of "Those Shoes" (you won't be disappointed...I promise), because I can't find those copies of mine and all I have is a little collections CD. Need. More.

And of course with the very close runner up Aerosmith, I must be getting Aerosmith: Greatest Hits for the song "Come Together" because, bear, I have the most amazing dance in mind for this one as well for your arrival in June.

And that's the music I'm dancing to. Let your mind wander away.

I need a microwave.

Actually, the kids have been asking for one. They miss microwave popcorn. I admit, I miss my microwave popcorn, too.

On another note...
I'd like to point out the handy, dandy little blue handicap icon conveniently located next to the letters you're suppose to type in to post a comment. If you click on it the letters will be read to you. It's so blind people can leave comments too...after reading your blog.

Good thinking.

Okay, I'm going to bed. Night.

Hey! I like this guy:

Immigrants Hope to Show Strength With Boycott

"You should send all of the 13 million aliens home, then you take all of the welfare recipients who are taking a free check and make them do those jobs," said Jack Culberson, a retired Army colonel who attended the Pensacola rally. "It's as simple as that."

Why Blonde Caucasion Females Should NEVER Wear an Afro: a Photo Essay

A new version of The Star Spangled Banner has been written in Spanish. There is a remix also coming out about the "mean laws" in our country that would send ILLEGAL immigrants back to their country.

You know what, if they keep this shit up there will be some MAJOR problems. You know what, allowing ILLEGAL immigrants to stay is an INSULT to all of the LEGAL immigrants who did the paperwork, waited in the lines, LEARNED THE DAMNED LANGUAGE, so they could be here.

I have no problem with people coming to this country BUT we NEED laws that control who comes in and who doesn't. We can't just pick and choose what laws we are going to enforce. Hey, if they're going to just let all of the illegals stay in this country because they have family here now, then we also need to say, "Hey, all of you people who committed other crimes before your children were born, we'll just pretend it didn't happen so you don't go to jail. Don't wanna hurt your kids." You know, you should have thought about the effects of your illegal behavior on your children BEFORE you had them.

I'm not a cold hearted person. Anyone who wants to come here through the proper channels, and are willing to speak ENGLISH, I welcome with open arms. I don't expect you to loose your heritage. Celebrate it. But don't come here and change OUR country to fit the one you left. Obviously the way things were done in your country did not work for you. So why the hell come here and try to turn this country into the one you left? You came here because it's better, you wanted a new life remember? New life means you must...
~C~H~A~N~G~E~.

And don't ask me to feel sorry for people who BROKE THE LAW and then are upset because they may have to pay the price. There are military personel who have married over seas who spend YEARS getting their spouses here. These are people are AMERICANS who not only PAY TAXES but PUT THEIR LIVES ON THE LINE to serve this county. If these most deserving persons have to wait to get their families here, why should non-American smoos get to stay because they snuck over the border or refused to leave when their visa expired?

Those. People. Broke. The. Law.

End of story.

And now The Star Spangled Banner is being butchered and used as a protest for this criminal act. I'm pissed.

Hand me a frigging gun.

And I know how this is going to sound, but uh, FACTS are that the higher the number of certain people, the higher the crime rate. Hmmmmm...let's figure that out. And don't give me some whiney bullshit response like, "They're poor, they have no choice." Listen, I live in a state and in a county with a large number of people living under the poverty level, yet, amazingly enough, very low crime rates. Hmmmm...most people don't even have to lock their doors, even those that live right across the street from the trailer park full of people living below the poverty level.

'Nough said.

Chernobyl's Legacy: a Photo Essay
I will warn you, it will make you cry. And it will make you very grateful for your life. Sometimes we all need a little reminder of just how well we have it.

I have cramps. Someone please pass me the Midol. Pass me the Midol and a baseball bat. And someone stupid to hit. Because I have cramps. And they suck.

HEY! Remember when this guy was considered sexy...and talented?

Yeah, me too. That would make us OLD. Yes that's it, we're getting old. That means that the clothes we use to wear in high school that went out of date, will soon become "retro."

On another old note...I went to the health food store today. It's 25 minutes away. It's run by Mennonites (they're like Amish people, but they drive cars and use electricity, and the women can wear dresses with some designs on them instead of sticking to blank, brown, and navy). I went there because I needed supplements. I needed supplements because I'm in the beginning stages of menopause and it sucks donkey yack.

So $77 later I have a bag of mint morsels, a bag of yogurt covered raisins, raw local honey, loose tea leaves (maybe I'll try reading them...HA! anyone know how to read tea leaves?), lavender flowers (I don't know why really...it seemed like a good idea at the time) and supplements that will hopefully prevent the night sweats that plague me every 30 or so days which force me to change my PJ's three times in one night and soak my bed sheets so I end up sleeping in the overstuffed arm chair in my room. Huh.

The creator is a man. I know this because the Goddess wouldn't do this to us.

I'd just like to make it known to all of my readers that MISS KENTUCKY won Miss USA. yes, Miss li'l ol' Kentucky (who was in our Tater Day Parade BTW) is now Miss USA. I feel so proud!

YEEEEEEEEEEE! HAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWW!

It's 3:45 in the morning and here I sit. Why? I'm so glad you asked. This is how my day has been thus far:

11:30 - Got to bed...finally

12:00 - Woke up to crying daughter who ate too much junk food today and puked all over herself while she slept. Bathed her, blew her hair dry, got her tucked up in a sleeping bag on my bedroom floor.

12:40 - Get back to bed.

1:30 - The alarm goes off on my special little radio that sends out obnoxious and loud beeping sounds whenever the National Weather Service puts out an advisory for our county. It's a tornado watch. wooo hooo. We get those all the time. Back to bed.

3:00 - A different type of obnoxious and loud beeping sound goes off. The red light starts to flash. I go running up the stairs, "Get to the basement! Get to the basement NOW!" The kids are champs and go heading downstairs to safety. I grab a few blankets on my way down.

Then I grab the alarm to take to the basement.

Silly me...It never occurred to me to check WHAT kind of warning it was. It's 3:00 in the morning and we were already under a tornado watch. See, the county next to us was being put under a severe THUNDERSTORM warning (hey...golf ball sized hail...). Of course, I couldn't tell the kiddos this because next time it really COULD be a tornado warning, then they wouldn't believe me.

So we sat in the basement for half an hour just to keep it real. Then I commended them on a job well done.

It was a good dry run. I was worried about how quickly they would react in the middle of the night. Now I know. Got all those sleepy heads of mine into the basement in under thirty seconds. I'm happy. I was planning on doing a middle-of-the-night tornado drill in the near future anyway. This worked out well.

Now they are in bed. And now, here I sit, because, hey! I'm not getting any sleep tonight because the storms are heading our way and I'm pretty darned sure that there will be a legit tornado warning for my area by 4:30 this morning. Why tease myself by lieing down in bed at all?

MY BEAR IS HERE!!!

MY BEAR IS HERE!!!

I only have him until Tuesday, so you won't be seeing me until Wednesday more than likely. Have a great weekend! Happy Easter!

My dryer blew up.

You see, first the belt broke. When I called about the belt I also informed them that my clothes were taking two hours to dry. Then the dumb ass repairman shows up with the wrong belt (he didn't think about checking the model number to see which one it needed, just hoped it would be a standard size...duh...). He tells me he'll order a belt to the house. It would arrive in 3-7 days. Then I could call him to come out and put it on. Seeing how I've repaired a washer motor before I asked him if I could just put the belt on myself. You see, five children no dryer is a pain. I'd already waited ten days for him to show up. Now I had another 3-7 for the belt to show, then another week for him to get out to put it on? Uh...no. Twenty dollars at the laundry mat each week wasn't sounding too good either. He quickly agrees saying that it would "save" him from having to come out here again. I put the belt on just like he said. It's not rocket science.

I press start.

Spin, spin, BOOM! POP! sparks, smoke out the back of the machine.

I quickly unplugged it from the wall. Then I called the warranty company back to call the people at Sears "incompetent dickheads."

So how was y'all's day?

Tator Day weekend was the first weekend of April. Here are some highlights. I have over 100 pictures.

See, it's a big holiday around here.

Yes, that's my six-year-old shooting a gun. If he practices enough, maybe he'll be able to start shootin' possums an' rabbits an' deer for dinner. Yeeeeeee-Haw!

Lookie! It's our town's new fire truck!

Ooooooo! Aaaaaah! Ain't it purty an' shiny?

Here comes the high school marching band. Don't laugh, folks, they're one of the best in the country and have performed for the President of the United States and have performed in college bowl games across the country.

Here's the end of the parade. At least 300 people on horseback. Next year I'll be in there with 'em.

Hey, did I mention the hand dipped corn dogs and the carnival? Fun was had by all. We can't wait for next year!

I'm sick. Send me your love.
I'm going back to bed.

"And thou shalt call her name Dumb Ass, for she shall be an idiot amoung dogs."

I know, she looks adorable, and she is. But truly, she's stupid. Last night we were hiding out in the basement waiting for the tornadoes to go away. Dumb Ass got up on one of the shelves in the laundry room. She got into my soap making supplies. She pulled out a bottle of castor oil. She chewed off the lid. She drank half a bottle.

Now some of you are already going, "Oh! My! NOOOOOO!" For those unaware of the effects of ingesting castor oil: it's a super laxative. I couldn't leave her outside. We were finally out of the tornado warning (tornados in the area) but were still under a watch for several hours (conditions are ripe). Plus, she sleeps in a crate so I was just hoping to get her outside as soon as she whined to go.

No such luck.

Whatever you can imagine, multiply it by 10...100...1000! Her cage was full of brown, slimy waterish...stuff. It was on her. It was on the floor. She shot it out her ass onto the brick wall.

Do you know how to get that stuff off of real bricks and mortar? You scrub it with a tooth brush and hot soapy bleach water. You open all the windows and bring in a small oscillating fan to blow the fumes away from you (super fumes because you clean the the stuff off the floor with straight bleach first so you can get to the wall). You have to do this so you don't gag to death and pass out. Then you scrub...for 45 minutes.

Yes, her name shall henceforth be known as Dumb Ass.

Aren't they adorable???!!!

These are baby Barred Rocks. They're good winter layers. This means that we won't need to set up artificial light during the short days of winter to make them lay eggs (sunlight is needed to stimulte a hormone in the hens' ovaries to make them lay). Later this week we might be heading out to Murray for a couple Aracona's as well. They lay colored eggs. Their nickname is the Easter Egg Chicken.

Bear said that he will clear the land for the chicken coop while he's here. Hopefully we'll get the concrete foundation poured as well.

Right now they're in a brooder, which is simply a cardboard box with a heat lamp over head. In about four months they'll start laying eggs, about three each a week.

You know I live in rural country America because after purchasing these two babies I had to run a few errands. The chicks went with me. We were in two grocery stores, a dollar, and a hardware store. No one could care less. In fact, everyone wanted to see them. See, people around here know that it's chick time. Most people around here have farm animals. It's a way of life. And it's the life we want.

On a different note...

I try to keep my blog non-political, but I'm pissed. I'm pissed because it is behavior like this that creates disharmony in our country. It also creates resentment and hostility between the races. Here are the undisputed facts:

* A member of Congress entered a building guarded by the Capital Police.
* Said person is NOT WEARING their required Congress member ID.
* Said person had just changed their looks.
* An officer asks said person THREE TIMES to stop.
* They ignore the officer's request.
* The officer touches this person to get them to stop.
* Congress member then hits the officer.

If this were say Mitch McConnell, Bill Nelson, or Mark Pryor, white males, there is no doubt they would be named as the cause of the problem (like when that white Congress member was stopped by airport security). There would be an apology made. If it were Shelley Berkley, JoAnn Davis, or Jean Schmidt, white females, more than likely, same thing.

But is wasn't any of the afore mentioned, it was Cynthia McKinney, a black female out of Georgia.

And she is playing the race card. Her official statement:

"Let me be clear. This whole incident was instigated by the inappropriate touching and stopping of me, a female black congresswoman," McKinney said. "I deeply regret that this incident occurred."

***I must note that her use of FEMALE congressWOMAN made me laugh. I thought the two were synonymous. Could there be a MALE congressWOMAN?***

Back on subject, I'm sure that this incident had nothing to do with:

Members of Congress wear identifying lapel pins and routinely are waved into buildings without undergoing security checks. McKinney was not wearing her pin at the time, and the officer apparently did not recognize her, she has said.

You did see that SHE ADMITTED not wearing her proper ID.

There are witnesses:

Several Capitol Police officials have said the officer involved asked McKinney three times to stop. When she did not, he placed a hand on her and she hit him, they said.

Well, I have an official statement of my own, "Let *ME* be clear. This whole incident was instigated by YOUR error and YOUR inappropriate lack of respect for the authority of the officer, a person who is there to protect you. I deeply regret that your head is up your ass."

Hey, my body let me sleep in this morning, 6:20, an extra 35 minutes, Woooo! Hoooo! I just had to share my joy.

Had quite the laugh this morning, thanks to AOL. There was great ad. The first just says, "Inspirational Newsletter," the the next slide said, "Have Better Sex," after that, "Get Promoted," the last one said, "Improve Your Career."

Anyone find the humor in this, especially since all the writers are women?

More SpongeBob Questions...

Check out the comment left after my SpongeBob post:

NickLiason said...

Hey Krystal,
I've worked at Nick for a few years as a "developmental liason" to help parents out with different issues of concern they my have; ie: are SpongeBob and Patrick gay (most asked question). I have a coworker who actually monitors blog activity and can identify which blogs have any of the shows characters as a subject (technology is great huh!). This is how we found your entry. To the point though. The writers for SpongeBob try to enforce safety concerns parents may have. Thus when "swimming" SpongeBob is responsible by wearing floaties. This helps its viewers, both children and parents alike to remember an important safety feature while at the beach or poolside.Hope this helps. By the way, SpongeBob and Patrick are "non-sexual", they couldn't care less about it.

P.S. Really enjoyed reading other entries of your blog. Keep up the great job.

Regards,

NickLiason
3:15 PM

Sorta cool. I sure wish that I knew how to contact this guy though because I have several other Sponge Bob questions to ask. For example:

Sponge Bob agreed to pay Mr. Crabs for allowing him to work at the Krusty Krab. That's how he got hired. So what I wanna know is: Where does Bob get his money from?

And how do they keep the Krabby Patty buns from getting all soggy?

And you know that time when Sponge Bob and Patrick ran away because of the balloon they didn't know was free and they lit a fire to stay warm? Where did they find dry wood AND how did they get the flame to burn under the water? The science behind that mystifies me!

And when Sponge Bob drains his tub, where does the water go?

And why does Squidward use a towel? Does he really get dry?

I'd also like to know what Patrick's on because ... WOW!

And where could I get some because ... WOW!

So it's flooding and I'm in a canoe and I'm paddling by hand. I'm lost. I'm scared. There's a flood and it's rising and I'm tossed about with no control of where I'm heading. I see this man and he says he's gonna help. He starts walking and pulling my canoe and he starts pulling the canoe down, but he's above water. He must be 10 feet tall. The canoe starts to fill and my head goes under. I open my eyes and I can see under the water: plants, weeds, the water is somewhat murky. I'm afraid of what else may be in there. Somehow I break the man's grasp on my canoe and it starts to float again.

Then I'm in this room with glass walls, glass windows, a glass door. There is a short hallway and at the end I see another glass wall and door. The flood waters are coming, the water is quickly higher than the door at the end of the hallway. It begins to shake. There is water leaking into the hallway and into the room I'm in. There's another person in the room with me. It's a man, but I don't know who it is or why he's there. We've put everything up high and out of the inch or so of water on the floor. We shove towels up against the crack at the bottom of the door to slow down the water that is seeping in. There is only one way out. We're trapped.

In the hallway I see a wooden bookshelf. My Daddy's trumpet is on the bottom shelf. There's nothing else on the bookshelf. The water hasn't reached Daddy's trumpet yet. I tell the man in the room with me that I need to save Daddy's trumpet. It's all I have left of him. He tells me not to go because the door could fly open any minute and the flood waters will rush in and rush me away with them. It isn't worth my life he says. I can't stop myself. I open our door and rush out into the hallway anyway to retrieve the trumpet.

I rescue it and run back to safety, what little safety there is, and just as I close the door behind me the hall door bursts opens and the water gushes. The man in the room with me blocks our door to help prevent it from opening to the flood waters.

It works.

The flood freely flows into the hallway and down the corridor out the other end. It lasts for only a few seconds. Then the water is all gone. The flood is gone. And I'm in the glass room alone.

Then I wake up.

And just now as I've finished typing this out and read it through I realize that the man in the room with me was my Daddy, and I didn't recognize him. Oh God, what's wrong with me? It's all too metaphorical and it hurts.

Why is it that I've watched Spongebob for YEARS and only just now do I question why the heck does Spongebob need arm floaties for at the beach?! He lives in a pineapple...UNDER the sea....He's a SPONGE. He can float on his own and swim. He's a sea creature. I've seen him swim with the jelly fish once. So what's up with the arm floaties?

And why go to the BEACH?! They all live on a beach. The floors of their homes is freaking beach. THEY LIVE UNDER THE SEA!

And the purpose for the lifeguards would be...? They all swim, they're FISH.

* Homemade bread is the best. Yes, I make bread.

* My eight-year-old informed me this morning that once his air bending skills are strong (it's an Avitar thing), he'll be able to fight tornados. I told him to not even THINK about it.

* I saw this today. It made me cry.

Family Buries Remains of Frozen WWII Airman

BRAINERD, Minn. (March 24) - Leo Mustonen's closest surviving relatives grew up knowing little about their uncle, other than that he died in a military plane crash. That changed only with the improbable discovery of the World War II airman's body, frozen in a California glacier for more than six decades.

People in this town who remember the handsome blond man shared their memories with Mary Ruth Mustonen and Leane Ross before his funeral Friday. They learned he was an ace student who excelled in science, who played in the school band and in sports, and who dreamed of working in aviation even as a boy.

"It's been pretty incredible," Ross said. "He's become really a person. He really feels like he is ours now, and we've grown to love him."

Mustonen's nieces were among about 100 people who gathered in their uncle's hometown to bury him. A full military funeral followed at a cemetery overlooking the Mississippi River.

You can read the full article. Rest in peace, Airmen Mustonen. You've earned it.

Another Oprah Dream...

She lived up the street from me. She invited me to one of her shows. Madonna was there and Oprah had all of these stylist people there telling Madonna how the last time she bleached her hair she stripped it really bad. I wanted to ask Oprah to get me Madonna's autograph just for the heck of it, but I decided that I shouldn't because I'd look like one of those people who are totally enamored by Hollywood, which I'm not. In fact, I find the Hollywood glitz and glamour to be quite obnoxious. Just one more reason why I don't understand why I keep having dreams about Oprah.

The Madonna thing I understand. When Fred and I were discussing my odd dreams, he mentioned Madonna. Thanks, Fred. Fred's theory is that my not being able to get laid because of Bear being so far away is somehow forcing these little boxes inside my head to open up. We'll run with that one for now because NO ONE ELSE has given me any insight.

So I ask, what good are you people if you won't help a woman in need???!!!

I've been having crazy dreams. Insight would be appreciated.

First I had these two dreams about Oprah. I don't watch Oprah so I don't know why I had a dream about the Diva, Big Jay (whom I've seen ONCE since high school), and me at a birthday party with her. It was just the four of us and we had to climb this really steep staircase that was more like a ladder than stairs. There were no railings and no sides. We were all fairly certain we would fall. Pretty freaky.

Two or three nights later I had another dream where I was hanging with Oprah. I don't remember exactly what happened, but it seems that it was just her and I doing something or other. Again, I thought this was odd because I don't watch Oprah.

Then last night I had this really strange dream that defies any and all explanation. I went over it several times in my head because it was so bizzarre.

The kids and I were staying with my mother (shoot me now) while Bear was trying to sell the house. We left the kids at her house and went to some park for something. I ran into Sabu and Moanique there. They were waiting to hear this awesome band that they've gone to see several times. My mother had taken off and said she'd be back in fifteen, so I said I'd listen to a song or two since it was right there by where the car was parked. Plus I had my cell phone so she could call me. So we're sitting around waiting for this band to play, but instead they start showing these pictures of the band on a screen showing how to make brownies. Sabu and Moanique were sitting there going "What the fuck?" We thought this was like a funky intro or something. But then the band members actually came out to give a cooking session on brownies. The entire audience really got into this. Whatever.

So I go back to find my mother. Only about five minutes had passed. I can't find her. The car is gone. Where the hell did she go??? I go for my cell and it's missing. There are cell phones charging all over this crowded park (which in my dream had morphed into some type of bar/restaurant). I can't find mine, so I stole someone else's after about an hour of searching. I call my mom and she says that she just has to deal with Daddy's death in her own way and she taken off with some random guy she ran into at the park before it morphed. They were going off for a weekend trip. So how the hell was I suppose to get home and what the hell is her problem leaving all the kids there alone for so long. Again, she tells me that she has to go off and deal with Daddy's death her own way. Alrighty then.

Then all of a sudden I'm at her house (which was nothing like her house) and I walk out early in the morning to see my insurance agent coming out of her bedroom in satin pajamas. They're all hugging and kissing and being very sexual towards each other in front of me. I'm freaking out because they had just met and she let him spend the night with her while my kids and I are there. PLUS one of my kids could have walked out at any time and seen them acting like this towards each other. They were practically screwing on the kitchen counter top (thankfully I didn't actually see this in my dream or I might have woken up blind, I just saw myself yelling at her thoroughly disgusted). She tells me it's her house and she'll do whatever she damn well feels like. The next night it was a different man (I don't know who this one was). I started getting sick to my stomach and I'm telling Bear that the kids and I have to get the hell out of this place.

Then this giant hole appears in one of the walls and I woke up.

ON ANOTHER NOTE...

In case one of your eyeballs should ever fall out of its socket...

My Eyeball Just Fell Out of Its Socket: What should I do?

Not all popped eyeballs come from head trauma. A few people can luxate their globes on purpose, and certain others get "spontaneous globe luxation" when their eyelids are pushed in the right way. Someone with shallow eye sockets or floppy eyelid syndrome, for example, might pop his eyeballs during a regular eye exam. You can also trigger luxation while putting in your contact lenses, or with a particularly violent sneeze. You might even pop your eyeballs by trying to exhale while keeping your nose and mouth closed (i.e., performing the Valsalva maneuver).

If your eyeballs fall out of their sockets repeatedly, you might be a candidate for a lateral tarsorrhaphy—in which doctors sew up your eyelids part of the way to keep them from opening too wide. You could also learn the following technique for popping your eye back in yourself: First direct your gaze downward. Now pinch and pull your upper eyelid with the thumb and index finger of one hand. Lay a finger from your other hand on the top part of your luxated eyeball, taking care to press only on the insensitive white part. While you continue to hold your eyelid up, push your eyeball gently down and back at the same time until it's part of the way in. Then try to look upwards; if everything goes right your eyeball will rotate under the upper lid and back into its socket.

Just thought that might come in handy for one of you folks someday...

Two posts in one day, yeah I know...

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!!

I'm an AMAZING mom, let me tell you WHY...

So first we had dessert at DQ. Then we came home for a dinner of corn beef, cabbage, and Irish Brown Bread because I'm IRISH and I love St. Patty's Day!!!

Then we were listening to Trace Adkins when THAT song came on. My 4-year-old daughter and I jumped up on the kitchen table and started dancin' and shakin' our bedonky-donks (that girl can shake her be-hind prety damned well) when my six-year-old son wanted to know why only GIRLS could dance on table tops. The teenage son replies, "Because it's HOT!"

Yeah, BABY! I'm doing my job and I'm doing it well!!

I think my son may be scarred for life though. I made him take these pictures. He said that he made sure to get "lots of skin for Dad".




Well, my job here is finish. Now it's time for something to drink...Bailey's IRISH Cream. I wish I had some beer too. Catch you la-tar...

Now that my mother has figured out that I'm not taking her phone calls, she's started sending packages to me and the kids.

I'm returning them all to sender.

I don't want anything from her except for her to leave me alone. I can't give anything to the kids because they'll want to call her. Plus, it'll start up the constant questioning about when are we going to go see grandma. We AREN'T going to go see grandma because she truly needs to be institutionalized.

I considered telling you all the dirt, but I've reconsidered. Suffice it to say that I have four siblings. NONE of us talk to her. She has adult grandchildren who won't have anything to do with her. She lived in the same place for 20 years, but has not ONE friend there.

I don't think I'm the one with the problem.

I'm sending out a serious plea.

I've lost 60 pounds. I've gone from an 18W/20 to a 7/8. I'm very happy with my weight loss, but here is a truth that goes along with that weight loss.

I was looking at myself in the mirror two days ago wishing and wondering why my rear and thighs weren't diminishing with all the work I've been doing. They are a great deal smaller, but not where I thought they should be by now. Then I noticed the wrinkles in my skin on my thighs and where my bum meets my upper leg. Not rolls, mind you, but wrinkles. I've seen enough plastic surgery shows to know what they signify: extra loose skin.

I pulled the skin up and I have amazing legs! You just can't see them because of all the loose skin hanging over them.

Look, I wish that when I was a kid and my eating habits were being formed that the general public knew that fast food was full of fats. Honestly, the unhealthy affects of fast food have come out since I've started having children. I mean, when I was fifteen who knew that a Big Mac was really that bad for you? We knew it wasn't healthy, but heart attack on a bun? I guess there were some people who knew, but the information wasn't out there like it is now. I wish I hadn't been allowed to eat entire bags of cookies or extra large fries or tons of dip and chips. I wish I hadn't been allowed all the soda and ramen noodles I could ingest.

I wish that as a younger adult I had taken the time to really learn these things. I wish I had taken it more seriously when I hit 180. I wish I had done the research then. If I had, I wouldn't have what I have now, which is probably several pounds of loose and sagging skin.

Don't get me wrong, I look great. I can hold all that skin in with panty hose. Plus, in a dress or skirt, no one sees my thighs. I'm really happy with my weight loss because it wasn't just about my weight, it was about my health and I'm much healthier now and can keep up with my kids.

But this skin will be there forever (unless I win the lotto and they come up with a plastic surgery that doesn't leave scars). This isn't about skin left over from baby stretching. It's about skin left over from eating too much pizza with extra cheese and washing that down with ice cream.

I generally stray away from getting too serious on this blog, but I am making a heart-felt plea to all of you right now. Don't let yourself gain another ten pounds. Stop it now. Don't let your kids end up like me. Take the time to learn to eat healthy and then teach them. I don't care if your kid is rail thin, NOBODY needs to be eating a double cheeseburger from anywhere. I've seen bone thin children have their metabolisms suddenly slow down and end up moderately to severely overweight. I know one little girl who was wearing a size 18 at 14-years-old.

The word "no" isn't evil, especially if you explain to your children that it isn't just about weight, but their health in general (lots of skinny people wind up with clogged arteries having a heart attack and by-pass surgery). My six-year-old understands metabolism, so can yours. All of my children understand metabolism, clogged arteries, good fats, bad fats, simple carbs, complex carbs, the importance of fresh, raw fruits and vegetables. They're learning to eat foods they don't necessarily like because it's good for them. The amazing thing is, after they eat them a few times and understand how good it is for their bodies, they start ENJOYING them. We don't make this a weight issue because that's just a small side effect of the real issue. It's about being healthy. ***For the record, if your kids are eating school lunch, I can pretty much guarantee you that they are NOT getting a healthy lunch. Most school lunches are full of bad carbs, bad fats, and LOADED with calories.. Brown bagging it is a much healthier choice.***


For me, I'll live with the results of my unhealthy choices for the rest of my life. When I ate wrong as a kid, I just didn't know. But the wrong choices I made as an adult are my own personal responsibility. When I hit 170 and didn't stop, the blame falls only on me. I have no one to blame but myself for reaching 208. I will always have a reminder of where I came from and the results of my own personal choices. I guess I'm just asking those of you who read this blog to learn from my mistakes.

And for the love of your own children, don't sit back and allow them to do the same thing.

Pay attention here, now. I know that some of you out there are the brainy types. You develope all sorts of super cool stuff out there an' shit. I need something developed. I need you to develope a strain of Mary Jane that doesn't produce the munchies.

You see, munchies weren't too much of an issue when I was only stoning once a week and had a microwave for bag after bag of popcorn and a Bear with me. But now I have neither and I've added Bailey's Hot Cocoa to the mix because it's really damned good. So anyway, I'm getting these cravings for something enjoyable so I head for the fridge. Truth is, what I'm really wanting is to get laid. It's like my all time favorite pass time (right, Bear?). He's a lucky man. Seriously. I need to get laid. I haven't been laid since one month ago today. And he isn't gonna be here for a few more weeks.

So I'm getting really happy and eating out the fridge instead of getting laid. And I'm really not one of those do-it-yourselfer's.

***By the way, I want to give a big shout out to my man FRED who kindly made a donation towards my future indeavers of becoming a do-it-yourself type of gal.***

So you gotta develope a Mary Jane that supresses appetite for those like me.

...Must...
...Get...
...Laid...

QUICK!!! Everyone go watch "Kavorkian Scarf" and "Eye Stigmata" by Foamy. They're my favorite. Go watch them!!!

Okay, now THIS is just too funny. Fred, in particular, should like it. It reminded me of our good ol' egg running days...

HEY!!! It just occurred to me that MAYBE the reason I want chickens is linked to our egg run days. Every time I collect eggs I'm sure I'll be looking for someone to throw them at. Yeah...and I have five moving targets to take aim at...yeah...

Did I ever mention that a few months ago I smashed a raw egg on top of my six-year-old's head just for fun? I had this overwhelming urge to smash and egg, and there he was, all trusting with those brown eyes of his when I called him over. He looked up at me adoringly. Then I smashed the egg on his head and laugh hysterically.

I think I might have been stoned.

Let's see...

I made strawberry jam.
I made apple butter.

I'm working on a quilt.

Yeah, I'm enjoying the country life!

The most important order of business today is to wish my Daddy a Happy Birthday. He would have been 73.

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

We love you and miss you a lot!

This afternoon I will be making him a carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. It was his favorite. The kids and I will all sing happy birthday to him after dinner. He will always hold a special place in my heart. Maybe I'll take the kids to the local chinese restaurant. Chinese was his favorite too.

Last night was fun. We had just finished dessert and the kids and I were cleaning the kitchen were I heard this sound I hadn't heard in ages. I tell all the kids to hush. I run and open the side door. SHIT! I run to the TV. SHIT! SHIT!! Time to run our asses down to the basement. We lost the lights before making it to the stairs. I lit candles and down we go. I had to run upstairs to grab another candle. Two of the boys were so scared they had to pee. And pee they did, into an empty flower pot. Of course they didn't know that the flower pot had those little holes in the bottom. I now have a carpet downstairs with human child pee on it. Oh well. The tornado hit about thirty miles from here, but we had winds that were upwards of 60 mph and the storm, with the tornado, was heading our way. I could HEAR the damned thing.

Since we are moving into tornado season, I am putting together a tornado kit: two flashlights, extra batteries, some candles and a lighter. I'm going to put these things into a bucket...for pissing in.

Remember that crazy thing Feminoz noticed about how the security letters for posting frequently had something to do with the comment being posted? Well, it just happened to me again! I was replying to a comment about a "Crazy-off" between mothers and my security letters were "heaqz". Notice how incredibly close that comes to spelling "heads" when we're discussing crazy people? Huuuuuuhhhhh? Frightening.

Did I mention that in my little piece of BFE there are two men really fighting it out to win COUNTY CORONOR? Seriously. I see "Elect so-n-so for Corornor" signs all over the place. I saw one sign for something else, but I don't remember what it was. Evidently, the county cororonor position is in high demand. Eeeewwwww.

So I was sitting here reading comments when a post reminded me that I'd forgotten to update you all on my drug addicted, alcoholic, egocentric mother who can't seem to live her life without creating some type of drama. Thank-you, B.J. for mentioning that "millions still believe that [Pat Robertson is] sane." That reminded me of my own insane mother who adores Robertson.

Starting on my birthday, she sent me four emails in three days (still not speaking with her). First she was BEGGING me to speak to her. Could tell in the way it was written that she was wasted. Before I even have a chance to consider this plea (yeah...right) she emails me again. Evidently she has, ONCE AGAIN, turned her life over to...you got it...Christ. She has replaced her "nightly beverage to Root Beer, or Sprite." Anyone here believe that one? I sure as hell don't.

Then she "set me free" as she came to realize the I was not born for her "fulfillment"("hallelujah for this revelation" she says). Several "Praise the Lord"'s later and she set me free from her. My favorite part in all of this though was when she forwarded the "You are free" email to Bear asking him to join her in prayer as she prays "to bind the powers of Satan" who is apparently putting "evil feelings and thoughts" in my mind that are keeping me from wanting to speak to her.

I don't need satan for that one. Thirty-five years of knowing her did the trick.

Of course after all of the above, she tried calling my cell phone to sing "Happy Birthday" to my son. Yeah, right.

My poor husband. If I were him, I'd be worrying about what kind of stock I bred with. Of course, my Daddy was a total gem, so I guess that makes up for it.

I have been awake since 4:30 this morning. Why? Because Kaitlyn the beer-can-chewing dog pissed and shit in her cage. After cleaning it up I laid in bed for an hour waiting for sleep to return.

It didn't.

I'd also like to take this moment to bitch about those fucking award ceremonies that pre-empt my weekly shows. I don't watch many of them: CSI, Desperate Housewives, and Grey's Anatomy. Of course last night I didn't get to watch Desperate Housewives or Grey's Anatomy because of yet another fucking awards show.

WTF???!!! Who really fricking cares to listen to a bunch of Hollywood blow hards go on and on about how they couldn't have done it without ass kissing every fucking person on the planet. They're getting an award for what? Acting? Listen, these people get paid $8-10-20 million dollars to act in a damn movie. I think that's enough already. I want to see my shows.

I know people watch them. Well, what the hell else is there to watch? They always pre-empt the most popular shows and then all the other channels play shit you couldn't PAY people to watch.

Really wanna know how badly people wanna watch the Grammy's, the Golden Globe's, the Emmy's? try putting them on Pay Per View at $10 a pop. See who watches them then.

Remember Dallas and Falcon's Crest? There were like nine straight months of new episodes, minus two weeks for Christmas and New Year and maybe a pre-empting for Miss America. Now you're lucky if you get six new episodes an entire season of your favorite show. Hollywood sucks donkey shit.

And for those people who really DO live for these shows, might I suggest a life of some kind? Listening to speech after speech, name dropping after name dropping, you must have some sorry sucking life to purposely choose to watch that type of drivel go on for FOUR HOURS. Try watching some Senate hearings. At least the drivel there is actually of some importance.

Child #3 came up with a great one a couple days ago. The Eldest asked where his headset was. Child #3 says, "It wasn't my turn to watch YOUR headset," that's the standard line around here. Then he added, "My turn's NEXT Friday." Spoken like a true smart ass. I was so very proud.

And just one more little thing...
someone please shoot this stupid bitch. Her son must be rolling over in his grave. He died a hero and instead of leaving him a hero, she's turned him into a victim. She should be standing tall and proud that her son wasn't a cowardly piece of shit. No, instead she's gotta ruin his memory.

Dumb ass.

BIG NEWS!!!

My eldest turned 13 today. I am now the mother of a teenager...Goddess help me!

There he is, people, on the day he was born. All 8lbs 8oz of him. I'd put up a sweet baby picture, but the fact is, this is the only one I have scanned. All of my other pictures are still in boxes in another state.

It's about time, isn't it???!!!

Robertson Loses Seat on Religious Broadcasters' Board

VIRGINIA BEACH, Va. (March 2) - Christian broadcaster Pat Robertson, criticized by some evangelicals for comments about Venezuela's president and Israel's prime minister, lost a bid for re-election to the National Religious Broadcasters' board of directors.

You can read the rest on your own. Personally, I think the man has a few screws loose. Of course, I've thought that for a long time.

My Dog May Have a Serious Problem

...I love beer...yum...BEER...

Please don't take my BEER! Those kids are making me crazy. They won't stop chasing me. They won't leave me alone!

...I need beer...yum...BEER...
BURP!!!
...yup...I love beer...yum...BEER...