Martha Stewart Has Nothin’ On Me.
December 18th, 2001 by Kevin
Wow. I’m really and truly amazed at what re-joining the smoking population has done for my mood and my sleep patterns. Either that, or D. slipped some Prozac in my coffee this morning. I’m damn near cheery. Bustling away at Christmas cards and ornaments. Bursting with Christmas zest. Cheesin’ like a Swiss Colony gift basket.I’m a sucker for a nice Swiss Colony gift basket. The cookies are generally stale, but a little garlic cheese spread just hits the spot. I love those little Gramma candies that look like strawberries, but since I’m anti-carb these days, I’ll take a beef log and a chunk of cheese.
My son and I are having a poop war. I have to give the kid credit - he’s come a long way. He is now completely pee-trained. He holds it all night, goes first thing in the morning, and continues to go all day long. I’m impressed. He’s even using the regular toilet now, so the stinky, hard-to-clean potty chair has been sterilized and stashed in the basement. Much to my delight, my bathroom no longer smells like the Osama Bin Laden cave.
This is all fine and great, but for some reason the kid doesn’t want to poop. He holds it all day and then ends up going in his sleep. This sucks, and not just because it’s rather difficult to de-poop a kid after he’s been sleeping in it for three hours. It also sucks because he has had constant gas for about two weeks. When you have to poop and don’t, your body lets you know that it isn’t pleased.
Yes, folks, I am living with the Human Fart, otherwise known as The Stench.
We’re all watching the season finale of AbFab last night, which incidentally was funny as hell, and D. suddenly gets a very strange look on his face. I have terrible allergies, so my sense of smell is generally not the greatest. It took an extra minute to hit my nostrils with full force.
It smelled like horrible, black, screaming, agonizing Death.
My brain automatically wanted to blame D., because I just couldn’t compute the fact that my small and adorable son could produce such a hideous stench.
It didn’t phase him in the slightest, either. He just kept on watching TV as we ran from the room clutching our stomachs and moaning in agony.
The Stench knows no mercy.
So I’m trying to strongly suggest that he attempts to poop at least once every ten minutes. Not only will this preserve me from the assault on my sense of smell, but it will prevent the kid from becoming constipated.
Enough about poop, though. I’m sure I’ve thoroughly exhausted the subject.
I am making hand-painted, personalized glass Christmas ornaments for, oh, about 600 people this week. I decided on a simple American flag design that I could manage relatively easily by holding the ball and paint right up to my nose, and I started yesterday. It began with a list of about 20 people. No problem. I have several thousand plain white glass Christmas balls, because they were on clearance, dirt-cheap. However, every time someone calls or sends a card, I have add another name to the list.
I am Martha Stewart. Hear me roar.
My list is up to about 60 now. I may never get done. I decided to take a break, because my eyes were beginning to cross, but if I don’t update until after Christmas, don’t be surprised. I stupidly decided to paint names on the back as well, and that is taking frickin’ forever. The perfectionist in me is a very, very tedious little ignorant person.
If I visit a relative next year and they don’t have a Trance ornament on their tree, they are going to be in seriously deep shit.
Anonymous wrote on 12/2/06 at 11:54 pm :
Jane Clark wrote on 01/5/08 at 1:07 pm :
There be monsters.
Jayna McCarron wrote on 01/15/08 at 11:38 am :
Be careless in your dress if you will, but keep a tidy soul.
Garen Fountain wrote on 01/17/08 at 12:06 pm :
Garen Fountain…
Did you really think that, come on if you do a search on Google you will find that what you are saying is wrong….