I have skipped this probably two weeks in a row and I’m sick of it. I’m so sick of it that although I’m writing this at 13 minutes past midnight, let’s pretend I’m actually writing it on Sunday, so I’m totally lying with the datestamp. Yes, I’m that OCD. Fuck it. Let’s roll.
I was going to take a photo of a lacto-paleo cheesecake I made “tonight” in honor of my child’s sperm donor’s recent birthday, but he cut into it before I could yell HangOnASecLemmeGetTheFuckinCamera. So you get kitties again instead, because I like pictures to go with my LinkWithin plugin. This is my cat Lundi getting mommy hugs. She likes to get up on the bathroom sink and then prop her paws on my chest and purr like crazy while I pet her.
OK, there’s the cute part, on with the bitching.
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…and I’m too goddamn happy to snark right now.
Epic. Win. Super Bowl 44, 7 February 2010
I no longer have any excuses for not seeing this weight loss through.
Sorry for the uncreative blog post title but I’ve had a couple grievances simmering and it’s about time to take the lid off and share. Today’s snark, brought to you bright and early at almost 3am (I’m up late, not early), comes from the fact that I can’t even read a book to my kid or play a goddamned video game without being bombarded by stupidity.
First up, the book, entitled (appropriately enough) The Belly Book. You may notice it’s by the current publisher of Dr. Seuss’s books. It is not, however, by Dr. Seuss. It is by some bozo named Joe Harris, because Dr. Seuss would never put his name on this crap. I don’t know who Joe Harris is, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t get his ass kicked enough as a child.
To understand my ire, it is not enough to look at the front cover. No, we must read the book to our child all unawares, and then stop up short at the following pages.
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