I know. It's been two years since I last wrote for this blog. Well, a lot of awful shit has happened in those two years. This blog is going to be taking on a whole new purpose. See, THREE years ago, I was diagnosed with an incurable, rare autoimmune disease called Behcet's (look it up, fuckers). This disease has turned my world upside down, almost killed me, gave me a vast knowledge of my local ER, and changed me in positive ways that I never could have expected.
Well, I'm now going to share that experience with you. You're welcome.
I'm going to share hospital experiences, doctor visits, daily struggles, not only with being sick, but being a sick mother. All in a completely hilarious and sarcastic way, of course. I'll also being sharing notorious Layla incidents. She's the first kid I've ever know to get suspended in Kindergarten, but we'll get to that story later.
This is my way to see my illness in a whole new light, and to make fun of it, myself, life, and my kid as much as possible. :D
I'll be changing the subheading of the blog "Brutally honest motherhood" to possibly "Brutally honest motherhood; without a cure." If anyone has a better suggestion, please share.
Now Share the shit out of this entry, so I can get the word out that SASMA is back! (Well, I'm excited about it.)
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
The Demon Mouse Saga continues!
Today, Dear Readers of Wonderous Magicalness, I bring you...GUEST ART from JRose from Da Cheeseblarg! OMG!
I know I know, you admire me for knowing her personally (for ten years), and now you want to worship me and have my babies and have hot sex with me. But really, you should already want to do all that. What's wrong with you?
Sorry. Moving on.
Today, I also bring you the next installment in the Demon Mouse saga. Sadly, since my last post, I think the mouse either moved out of my walls, deciding they really weren't all that tasty after all, or died a horrible death of suffocation and starvation. Either way, I'm not being woken up anymore by the little bastard having his midnight snack. Why yes, I AM heartless, thanks for noticing. :D
Anyway....
One night, after watching the Green Hornet, I was just about to go to sleep, when suddenly, I heard the loudest, most violent scratching and chewing yet. It sounded like Demon Mouse was trying to claw its way out of my closet. It SOUNDED like he was just on the other side of the closet door, waiting for me to open the door so he could launch himself onto my face and begin devouring my eyeballs.
Upon hearing this disturbing noise, first I peed myself, then after cleaning that up, I went in search of a weapon. This "weapon" turned out to be my broom. Hey, what would you choose when facing a closet-dwelling mouse with evil intentions? The gun was INSIDE the closet with the mouse, and my landlord would have serious problems if I shot holes in the closet. (Stupid bitch)And all the sharp knives that were bigger than a steak knife were ALSO inside the closet with the mouse. Hmmm. Seems The Mouse has more than just claws and fangs for weapons. I've now armed it with a gun and several large, sharp daggers. Way to go, self. Why not just give it a damn flamethrower while you're at it?
So, armed with my broom, I stood in front of the closet door in my granny panties (totally mouse-defeating armor. If it doesn't scare him to death, he'll laugh himself to death instead) and tried to work up the courage to open the door.
This is when I realized that I had shit for courage, and needed back up. Since my three year old was asleep, I decided to go in search of my brave and totally-going-to-eat-the-mouse-and avenge-my-closet dog.
Once I found her, we both stood in front of the closet. Me with my trusty broom, her with her fucked up teeth. She's a shih tzu, you see. But once the mouse started clawing and chewing again, it became apparent very quickly that my dog wasn't going to do shit to back me up or avenge my closet.
Upon uttering this, she took one look at me, eyed a "fuck this shit" look at me, and crawled under the bed.
This is when I realized that I wasn't about to open that closet door. Not in this lifetime anyway, and set aside my broom. Then, for the next 5 minutes I tried convincing my pussy dog to come out from under the bed. But after uttering 80293842 profanities, including things like "You're in the room WITH IT, you stupid fuck!" and "Fine! Stay here with the demon mouse! I'll collect your remains in the morning!' and she STILL wouldn't emerge, I gave up, closed the bedroom door, and camped out on the couch.
Yeah, so I'm not willing to face an evil, face-eating mouse. But if zombies ever attacked or vampires, I'd be SO kicking some ass then. Or hiding under the bed with my dog. Whichever.
I know I know, you admire me for knowing her personally (for ten years), and now you want to worship me and have my babies and have hot sex with me. But really, you should already want to do all that. What's wrong with you?
Sorry. Moving on.
Today, I also bring you the next installment in the Demon Mouse saga. Sadly, since my last post, I think the mouse either moved out of my walls, deciding they really weren't all that tasty after all, or died a horrible death of suffocation and starvation. Either way, I'm not being woken up anymore by the little bastard having his midnight snack. Why yes, I AM heartless, thanks for noticing. :D
Anyway....
One night, after watching the Green Hornet, I was just about to go to sleep, when suddenly, I heard the loudest, most violent scratching and chewing yet. It sounded like Demon Mouse was trying to claw its way out of my closet. It SOUNDED like he was just on the other side of the closet door, waiting for me to open the door so he could launch himself onto my face and begin devouring my eyeballs.
Upon hearing this disturbing noise, first I peed myself, then after cleaning that up, I went in search of a weapon. This "weapon" turned out to be my broom. Hey, what would you choose when facing a closet-dwelling mouse with evil intentions? The gun was INSIDE the closet with the mouse, and my landlord would have serious problems if I shot holes in the closet. (Stupid bitch)And all the sharp knives that were bigger than a steak knife were ALSO inside the closet with the mouse. Hmmm. Seems The Mouse has more than just claws and fangs for weapons. I've now armed it with a gun and several large, sharp daggers. Way to go, self. Why not just give it a damn flamethrower while you're at it?
So, armed with my broom, I stood in front of the closet door in my granny panties (totally mouse-defeating armor. If it doesn't scare him to death, he'll laugh himself to death instead) and tried to work up the courage to open the door.
This is when I realized that I had shit for courage, and needed back up. Since my three year old was asleep, I decided to go in search of my brave and totally-going-to-eat-the-mouse-and avenge-my-closet dog.
Once I found her, we both stood in front of the closet. Me with my trusty broom, her with her fucked up teeth. She's a shih tzu, you see. But once the mouse started clawing and chewing again, it became apparent very quickly that my dog wasn't going to do shit to back me up or avenge my closet.
Upon uttering this, she took one look at me, eyed a "fuck this shit" look at me, and crawled under the bed.
This is when I realized that I wasn't about to open that closet door. Not in this lifetime anyway, and set aside my broom. Then, for the next 5 minutes I tried convincing my pussy dog to come out from under the bed. But after uttering 80293842 profanities, including things like "You're in the room WITH IT, you stupid fuck!" and "Fine! Stay here with the demon mouse! I'll collect your remains in the morning!' and she STILL wouldn't emerge, I gave up, closed the bedroom door, and camped out on the couch.
Yeah, so I'm not willing to face an evil, face-eating mouse. But if zombies ever attacked or vampires, I'd be SO kicking some ass then. Or hiding under the bed with my dog. Whichever.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
I know you were worried. You WERE worried, right?
Hi! I'm not dead! *cheering ensues*
The reason for my long absence is twofold:
1. I'm poorer than shit and lost the internet at home. There's a reason why I'm poor, but if I start talking about that, I may have to go and murder something, set it on fire, and piss on its still smoking ashes. *ahem*
2. Life has been kicking the holy shit out of my ass. This is too depressing to talk about. Especially since this blog is all about teh funny. And stuff.
ANYWAY
Right now, I'm staying at my parental's house. So, I plan to make a post very soon. And it shall be awesome. (duh) And you'll laugh until you pee, shit, or spontaneously give birth. :D
Until then, I have absolutely no filler. I know I suck. You better love me anyway. OkGoodbye.
The reason for my long absence is twofold:
1. I'm poorer than shit and lost the internet at home. There's a reason why I'm poor, but if I start talking about that, I may have to go and murder something, set it on fire, and piss on its still smoking ashes. *ahem*
2. Life has been kicking the holy shit out of my ass. This is too depressing to talk about. Especially since this blog is all about teh funny. And stuff.
ANYWAY
Right now, I'm staying at my parental's house. So, I plan to make a post very soon. And it shall be awesome. (duh) And you'll laugh until you pee, shit, or spontaneously give birth. :D
Until then, I have absolutely no filler. I know I suck. You better love me anyway. OkGoodbye.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Lots of Filler
Hello. I am currently not at home. This means I don't have Photoshop to draw stupid pictures with. And MS Paint sucks a hairy ass. So, here's a few things to keep you occupied:
First, here is my dog, Gizmo, chasing the cursor:
Next, here are some old posts. You need to read them. Or I'll cut you.
Real Mom Dress Up. And then post them on the SASMA Facebook wall. I'm serious, man, I'll cut you. Or punch you in the taint. Whichever I'm in the mood for.
If Mom and Kid commercials told the truth 2.
Ah, Memories.
Are you reading this shit yet?
And one more:
This is why I have anger management issues. Also, I like ludicrously long titles.
My work here is done. You're welcome.
First, here is my dog, Gizmo, chasing the cursor:
Next, here are some old posts. You need to read them. Or I'll cut you.
Real Mom Dress Up. And then post them on the SASMA Facebook wall. I'm serious, man, I'll cut you. Or punch you in the taint. Whichever I'm in the mood for.
If Mom and Kid commercials told the truth 2.
Ah, Memories.
Are you reading this shit yet?
And one more:
This is why I have anger management issues. Also, I like ludicrously long titles.
My work here is done. You're welcome.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Demon Mouse, or A break from our regularly scheduled maternal angst
I know it's been a week since I last posted. I suck. But I was sick with bronchitis, and the copious amounts of albuterol I've been inhaling has killed a few million brain cells, and rendered me retarded.
And today, I don't bring you a woeful tale of motherhood, or a f-word riddled post about another Layla misadventure. In fact, this post has nothing to do with being a mother at all.
See, I have a mouse living in my bedroom walls. At least, that's what we ASSUME it is. For the past week, I have woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of chewing and scratching. In my sleep-deprived stupor, upon hearing this sound, my brain does not make the obvious and logical statement of: "Awww, a cute little mouse living in my walls. Hope it doesn't chew my shit up." It doesn't imagine an innocent little rodent, trying to free itself.
No, it immediately jumps to images of a demon mouse, fangs slathered in blood and the remains of its former victims, furiously trying to claw its way out of my wall so it can come and eat me alive.
I know it's not REALLY the Freddy Kruger of rodents living in my wall. But the fucking thing is so loud, my neurotic brain immediately imagines torture and death and maiming at the claws of a mutant mouse.
I'm perfectly stable, really.
So, my lovely and illustrious readers, I have a question for you. Would you like me to post MORE stories of random shit that goes on in my life/house/vagina (not really), or would you rather I stick to tales of Layla's destruction and other observations of cynical motherhood?
This certainly does not mean there will be no more posts making fun of my child. But having a random post everyone once in a while about something completely off-topic would be amusing, and my brain might cooperate more if I have a wider range of possible subjects. (That crack I smoked in the 90s is coming back to haunt me)
I'll most likely do whatever the fuck I want, no matter what you answer. But I may stop being an asshole long enough to consider your opinions. :D
**ETA: There shall be a part 2 to this story, because I totally forgot about what happened the other night. Ooooh! Suspenseful!
And today, I don't bring you a woeful tale of motherhood, or a f-word riddled post about another Layla misadventure. In fact, this post has nothing to do with being a mother at all.
See, I have a mouse living in my bedroom walls. At least, that's what we ASSUME it is. For the past week, I have woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of chewing and scratching. In my sleep-deprived stupor, upon hearing this sound, my brain does not make the obvious and logical statement of: "Awww, a cute little mouse living in my walls. Hope it doesn't chew my shit up." It doesn't imagine an innocent little rodent, trying to free itself.
No, it immediately jumps to images of a demon mouse, fangs slathered in blood and the remains of its former victims, furiously trying to claw its way out of my wall so it can come and eat me alive.
I know it's not REALLY the Freddy Kruger of rodents living in my wall. But the fucking thing is so loud, my neurotic brain immediately imagines torture and death and maiming at the claws of a mutant mouse.
I'm perfectly stable, really.
So, my lovely and illustrious readers, I have a question for you. Would you like me to post MORE stories of random shit that goes on in my life/house/vagina (not really), or would you rather I stick to tales of Layla's destruction and other observations of cynical motherhood?
This certainly does not mean there will be no more posts making fun of my child. But having a random post everyone once in a while about something completely off-topic would be amusing, and my brain might cooperate more if I have a wider range of possible subjects. (That crack I smoked in the 90s is coming back to haunt me)
I'll most likely do whatever the fuck I want, no matter what you answer. But I may stop being an asshole long enough to consider your opinions. :D
**ETA: There shall be a part 2 to this story, because I totally forgot about what happened the other night. Ooooh! Suspenseful!
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Special Superhero edition
Look! Standing over there! It's a zombie! It's a hobo! No! It's...WONDER MOM!!
Faster than projectile vomit! More powerful than a screaming offspring! Able to leap piles of shit and toys in a single bound!
The powers of Wonder Mom never cease!
Able to detect wrongdoing from 100 yards!
See out the back of her head!
Identify what the fuck that smell is!
She can clean the house, answer the phone, save her child from drowning in the toilet! All at the same time!
Can hear the slightest indication that her spawn is about to fuck some shit up!
With her tool belt of paper towels and Hammer of Reality, Wonder Mom can do ANYTHING!
Woooonnndddeeerrr Mooooommmm!!
Faster than projectile vomit! More powerful than a screaming offspring! Able to leap piles of shit and toys in a single bound!
The powers of Wonder Mom never cease!
Able to detect wrongdoing from 100 yards!
See out the back of her head!
Identify what the fuck that smell is!
She can clean the house, answer the phone, save her child from drowning in the toilet! All at the same time!
Can hear the slightest indication that her spawn is about to fuck some shit up!
With her tool belt of paper towels and Hammer of Reality, Wonder Mom can do ANYTHING!
Woooonnndddeeerrr Mooooommmm!!
Thursday, May 26, 2011
"So, you're gonna suffer, but you'll be happy about it."
So, this August, Layla will be starting preschool through the Head Start program. I enrolled her today. Her starting school will mean that I'll have to get up EVERY DAY around 5:30am. But, of course, I am willing to do this, because Layla needs to go to school, and I can come back home and sleep my ass off.
But this also means, that this is the first phase of Letting Go. Every parent faces this dreaded time when little Jr. starts school. Part of you wants to rejoice and praise Jesus. You make ridiculous promises, and almost get high on your new-found freedom.
But the other part of you wants to break down and sob and wonder why God hates you so much as to let your child grow up.
But then you come to your senses again, and realize you'll have 5 and a half hours of completely child-free time. You could...sleep, or shave your legs, or clean the house (yeah fucking right) or run around the house naked. Or shave your legs while cleaning naked. The possibilities are endless!
I'll probably just sleep and fuck around on the intranets. Because my fat ass needs a break.
**ETA: If Blogger is being a douchebag and not letting you comment, email me your comment at the email address on the very bottom of the page, or head on over to the SASMA Facebook page and comment there.
But this also means, that this is the first phase of Letting Go. Every parent faces this dreaded time when little Jr. starts school. Part of you wants to rejoice and praise Jesus. You make ridiculous promises, and almost get high on your new-found freedom.
But the other part of you wants to break down and sob and wonder why God hates you so much as to let your child grow up.
But then you come to your senses again, and realize you'll have 5 and a half hours of completely child-free time. You could...sleep, or shave your legs, or clean the house (yeah fucking right) or run around the house naked. Or shave your legs while cleaning naked. The possibilities are endless!
I'll probably just sleep and fuck around on the intranets. Because my fat ass needs a break.
**ETA: If Blogger is being a douchebag and not letting you comment, email me your comment at the email address on the very bottom of the page, or head on over to the SASMA Facebook page and comment there.
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