The Only Thing I Know: A Mom Blog of Slacker Proportions

Words(100 Word Challenge)

---

It's been a few weeks since I participated in the 100 Word Challenge... This week's entry is actually a re-vamped piece from 2006. It originally had 86 words, and I've beefed it up a bit to be eligible. First is the "100 Words" version followed by the original "86". So can you do it? Can you finally answer that age-old riddle... Is less really more? (And we're not talking about blue eyeshadow here, people.)

(Want in 100 Words)

The honey drips softly, sweetly,

thick and heavy from your lips.

I taste your breath but briefly,

and suckle at the delicacy you boldly deign to offer.

 

All that is elegance and beauty, your hands quick to roam…

Smug in their discovery:

content with these small indulgences of their own.

You smile as you taste my shame.

 

I labor against your hold.

I bloom, blush, unfurl…

Speaking softly to your hips, I grow bold.

You press closer and smile your knowledge.

 

I quietly sob, rage, then soften.

I taste of you and you of me-

The honey all but forgotten.

(Desire in 86)

The honey drips sweetly,

Thick and heavy from your lips.

I taste your breath but briefly

And suckle at the delicacy you offer.

 

Your hands roam with elegance and beauty

In search of an indulgence of their own.

Smug in your discovery,

You smile and taste my shame.

 

I labor against your unspoken hold.

I bloom, blush, unfurl…

Speaking to your hips, I grow bold.

You press closer

 

I sob, rage, then soften.

I taste of you and you of me-

The honey all but forgotten.

 

Ain't Nothing Gonna Break My Stride...(Damn the Man.)

When you're a  toddler, you know that every path is a long one.

Every journey an arduous one.

You're feet are much smaller; your stride much shorter....

And let's not forget those damn kid leashes.

When you're a toddler,  you know the importance of that first step...

(When you're Confucius, you know that you've got 1,999,999 more to go.)

When you're a toddler, you imagine lollipops the size of your head awaiting you at the end of this tunnel...

Or perhaps Mickey Mouse.

(I don't know; I'm not a toddler.)

When you're a toddler, "The Man" takes on many forms.

He's the guy or gal who's pushing you into bed in the middle of the afternoon when you'd rather be doing anything other than "napping". The one who's hiding the candy on the top of the fridge where there's no chance of you ever reaching it. The one who's pulling you out of that mud hole when you're just getting to the part of actually tasting those mud pies that you've spent your entire afternoon making.  The one who's still firmly saying "No"- even when you've been holding your breath for the last five minutes in protest.

He's the guy that suddenly appears in the cute black and white shots of you climbing up the big slide for the first time.

And no matter how friendly his smile is, he will try to take you down.

When you're a toddler, you know the importance of a well-placed kick in the face.

The groin is the better choice, of course.

But when you're a toddler, you've already come to the realization that you don't run very fast-

And "The Man" does.

When you're a toddler, you're still surprised to find "The Man" one step ahead...

No matter how many times you'll climb this tunnel only to be greeted by the same outcome.

But when you're a toddler, you're fine with all of that...

Because deep down inside you know that one day you will be able to run faster than him...

And that that long-planned kick to the groin will be more than justified.

Pipe [Cleaner] Dreams...(Weekly Winners)

---

I hope you all are having a lovely Mother's Day! Be sure to take a few moments to stop by and visit other fabulous winners by clicking ---->HERE<----.

Hair Product Weighs At Least a Pound, Right?(Fat-Free Friday)

So Friday is actually almost over here in my neck of the woods cow field... which means that I'm getting this FF Friday in just in time.

According to the scale yesterday, I was down a three more pounds this week- for a total of ten pounds in two weeks.

According to the scale this morning, I gained back half of one of those pounds overnight.

I'm totally blaming that extra coat of "Not Really a Waitress Red" that I slapped on my toes last night...

Although considering how fabulous that extra coat looked in my new Anne Klein heels this morning as we clickity-clacked our way to the Mother's Day Tea Party at Little Man's school, I'm cool with it.

Seriously, seriously fabulous.

So fabulous, in fact, that I might pack them and that bottle of "Not Really a Waitress Red" and head on over to MommyTime's place for a little [shoe] orgy.

But not tonight.

Because tonight, I'm kind of feeling like shite warmed over the easy bake oven way:

Burnt at the edges and awfully gooey in the center...

But *three* pounds lighter- which compensates tremendously for that "Easy Bake Oven Shite" aftertaste, now doesn't it?

---

Oh! But yesterday's post? The one with the southern gal hair and "silly white girl" sunburn? It was obviously invaded by some visiting dignitaries from Happypuppykittyrainbow Land whose national customs obviously include such rituals as seeing how big a girl's head can grow in one post and how many times the word 'Hawt' can be used before it's officially added to Webster's...

And they are all more than welcome here any time.

Matter of fact, I've got a few of those air mattress things hanging out in the attic, I'd love if you'd all just move in.  Permanently. :)

... Whose Idea Was This Anyhow?(circa 1997)

So it all started with LaskiGal posting a picture of some hot chick on the way to her prom... And then Nissa followed suit.

And when the blogging queen herself just showed up in my reader dressed to the nines with PEARLS, I just couldn't help myself.

So without further adieu, I present Judith at the Prom... Notice the righteous Southern Gal hair and "silly white girl doesn't know any better than to fall asleep in the sun two days before senior prom" sunburn.

But the dress was kickass.

The date was nice (not nice enough for me to remember his name... but nice nonetheless).

And my ass was a different kind of 'fat' altogether.

Sigh.

The 'Oh Shit, I Dropped the Baby' Face(Wordless Wednesday)

Click on the picture to enlarge and see the whole story:

Into the Frying Pan(Otherwise Known as 'What Happened to Good Ol' Fashioned Random Teenage Sex and Drug Use?')

Last Saturday, some dipshit and a half came into the backyard and stole Peter's four-wheeler (I've mentioned that we're hicks, right?). When telling the Middle One about the theft, he says with all seriousness, "I'll need a Spiderman mask and some web." April 25, 2008

You've got to admit, it was rather ballsy of the little twirps to come all the way up into our backyard at 5:30 in the morning (we were up until almost four watching movies, so it's pretty safe to assume that they had been watching the house) to steal the four-wheeler.

Our house sits on a large corner lot and we purchased the empty lot behind us as well, so it's not as if we sit on close to the road like most other houses... It's a nice little jaunt down the driveway.

But they did.

And they did.

If it weren't for the lady across the street leaving to go to work at that time and just so happening to see the jackass push the vehicle up the drive and into the back of a passing truck, we'd have not even realized it was gone until later that day.

Thankfully, she was smart enough to call the police straight away, and the dumbasses were stupid enough to stop for gas and coffee at a station in the next town over even though the lady's husband had been screaming at them as they pulled away.

There was a bit of damage- they ripped out the ignition, of course, dented the fenders, and left a few scratches (big four-wheeler, little truck)- but at least it was recovered. They were charged with grand theft, I believe, for stealing a vehicle worth over $5,000.

And then, a couple of days ago, someone set fire to the neighbor's barn (What? Your neighbors don't have barns? Where are you from? Civilized society Mars?).

She says that she's seen the same dumbasses driving up and down the road several times since the night they stole the four-wheeler...

She also says that the police claim that there's no way to "prove" that it was them...

She also says that although the police can't arrest someone on sheer speculation, she's got  four grown sons that would be happy to  whip someone's ass on it...

You know what?

Sometimes, it's nice to be country.

Shaken not Stirred(Weekly Winners)

---

I'll be visiting other Weekly Winners later this evening... But you should definitely get a head start on me by clicking ---->HERE<----.

Those Kinds of Kids Scare the Hell Out of Me(Scrolling Saturdays)

April 08, 2007
Those Kinds of Kids Scare the Hell Out of Me

It's two thirty in the morning here in Hickville.

Of course, those of you who know me well are completely familiar with my warped sense of time and the insane bouts of insomnia that have plagued my life since I was a pig-tailed princess sneaking past my mom's room in the middle of the night to spend a lovely two hours lending my voice-over talents to the various characters on Superman. (Yes, that was an incredibly long sentence, but you handled it wonderfully. Congratulations.) Tonight, however, the insomnia isn't the only thing keeping me all bushy-tailed,bright-eyed, and mildly paranoid.

You see, earlier this evening, I came to the rather startling conclusion that I'm in the wrong kind of book.

This is how I see it:

The Bard gave Caesar a soothsayer and the Ides of March and Macbeth the weird sisters. In fact, it seems that every really good story has some sort of prophet... Some subtle warning all wrapped up in crazy and topped off with a big fat bow of unbelievable. My prophet?

A creepy little girl with a basket full of cracked eggs.

Welcome to my cheap-fiction horror novel.

As the Little Shakespeares are looking forward to chocolate bunnies, fake grass, and food color stains on the morrow; I left them all in the capable hands of that pretty piece of meat that I married and headed off to a late-night push and shove at the local Walmart. As this is Hickville and civilization is a forty-minute drive and headache from here, I found myself the lone customer at the ridiculously over-priced gas station on the corner. The lady behind the counter was neither familiar nor friendly (nothing new considering I fit in here about as well as I would at the Republican National Convention), but I was in and out quickly.

It was on the walk back to the car that I noticed her standing by one of those smelly trash cans by the pump. She was peeling eggs. I'd guess she was, I don't know, seven or eight... I smiled at her. She smiled back and said,

Do you believe in evil spirits?

Ummm... Pardon?

We were at the party at my cousin's house and the spirits have been chasing us around town. Did you know that tomorrow's Easter?

Yeah, ummm, Happy Easter, sweetheart.

I quickly hopped into my van and drove away.

Now, I'm home and sitting here at two in the morning typing this. The baskets are done and awaiting the coming gleeful shouts. The last of the eggs are dancing in the pot, and I'm...

Well, I'm just waiting for the zombies to show up.

---

Flashback much? More Scrolling Saturday posts can be found by clicking here.

It's two thirty in the morning here in Hickville.

Of course, those of you who know me well are completely familiar with my warped sense of time and the insane bouts of insomnia that have plagued my life since I was a pig-tailed princess sneaking past my mom's room in the middle of the night to spend a lovely two hours lending my voice-over talents to the various characters on Superman. (Yes, that was an incredibly long sentence, but you handled it wonderfully. Congratulations.) Tonight, however, the insomnia isn't the only thing keeping me all bushy-tailed,bright-eyed, and mildly paranoid.

You see, earlier this evening, I came to the rather startling conclusion that I'm in the wrong kind of book.

This is how I see it:

The Bard gave Caesar a soothsayer and the Ides of March and Macbeth the weird sisters. In fact, it seems that every really good story has some sort of prophet... Some subtle warning all wrapped up in crazy and topped off with a big fat bow of unbelievable. My prophet?

A creepy little girl with a basket full of cracked eggs.

Welcome to my cheap-fiction horror novel.

As the Little Shakespeares are looking forward to chocolate bunnies, fake grass, and food color stains on the morrow; I left them all in the capable hands of that pretty piece of meat that I married and headed off to a late-night push and shove at the local Walmart. As this is Hickville and civilization is a forty-minute drive and headache from here, I found myself the lone customer at the ridiculously over-priced gas station on the corner. The lady behind the counter was neither familiar nor friendly (nothing new considering I fit in here about as well as I would at the Republican National Convention), but I was in and out quickly.

It was on the walk back to the car that I noticed her standing by one of those smelly trash cans by the pump. She was peeling eggs. I'd guess she was, I don't know, seven or eight... I smiled at her. She smiled back and said,

Do you believe in evil spirits?

Ummm... Pardon?

We were at the party at my cousin's house and the spirits have been chasing us around town. Did you know that tomorrow's Easter?

Yeah, ummm, Happy Easter, sweetheart.

I quickly hopped into my van and drove away.

Now, I'm home and sitting here at two in the morning typing this. The baskets are done and awaiting the coming gleeful shouts. The last of the eggs are dancing in the pot, and I'm...

Well, I'm just waiting for the zombies to show up.

There's Shakespeare in Those There Heads...(April & May 2008)

May 2008

"More Matter with Less Fat"

 

April 2008

"All that is brown is not chocolate."

 

Click here for previous mastheads.