From Wiping up Snot – recommended by Baseball Mom and a good recommendation at that. Besides, how can you resist a blog that is called ‘wiping up snot’ – frankly that almost makes her a heroine – after all how many times during the winter months do you walk around the grocery store or Target looking at these kids crusted over with snot and wonder, doesn’t that mom have a fucking clue!?! – so a mom that admits to wiping up the snot gets at least a few points for that alone in my book.
Now that I've bored you all to tears, I'll go back to lovingly gazing at my children while rainbows shoot out of my ass
Now… the rainbows shooting of her ass, this is a perfect description, for haven’t we all been there for that moment? You feel like you could be posed on one of those 1970’s Hallmark Cards with the photo under some opaque flypage with mushy shit written all over it? Or was the photo on the opaque page and the mushy shit underneath – well anyhow, well all bought them or received them, that is all of us that actually owned the big huge hard plastic comb and some of those “high heeled
tennies” and had the Farah Fawcett / Jaclyn Smith feathered long hair -Criminy what a freaking pain that was when it rained and went flat and you looked more like some sort of poor fettered orphan that had gotten your hair stuck in some sort of meat grinder – seriously if that haircut wasn’t curly it was butt fuckin ugly! I should know – my hair never did hold curl well – so if the humid climbed to anywhere above about 3% I was the meat-grinder hair girl – not a pretty sight in 5th grade when you are just finally discovering that boys do care what your hair looks like – there I was tugging on my training bra to keep it below where my boobs would someday be and pushing my damp straight butt-ugly hair outta my eyes or desperately trying to comb the feathers back into place with my enormous multi-colored comb that I kept in the butt pocket of my skin tight corduroy pants and staring wantingly at Frankie B (we aren’t even going to put a last name in here, because still the embarrassment is too much, and if he were to google himself and find this I would die a million deaths, lol) even though he was a foot shorter than me and he himself was busy staring wantingly at some other girl or some sports equipment or some food or anything but me with my shitty hair. However, my high heeled tennis were the fucking bomb – I would wear them now, seriously I would. Too bad Frankie wasn’t some sort of foot fetish fifth grader, my life could have been so different. Instead, once Spring rolled around that year, and it quit snowing every freaking morning on the way to school and trashing my hair – Chris (the future prisoner) noticed me and we “went together” – my mom would always say – “where are you going together?” and then laugh her ass off. We kissed in the Tunnel and held hands during the Friday movie in the Gym. Then shortly after High School we all heard that he was in Prison from some hideous crime, I think it was assault with a deadly weapon and attempted manslaughter. Frankie B still lives in the neighborhood and my nephew hangs out with his nephew – go figure.
