Thursday, January 27, 2005

I smell like ass.

I smell like ass.

I did it.

I did what all of you, most I don't even know in person, begged me not to do.

I smoked.

But there is light, and not a cigarette light, at the end of this tunnel.
It tasted like ass. I choked on the ass smoke and it made me feel not only more asslike, it made me realize it's all in my assanine head. It's not gonna fill that void for me anymore. In fact, it never did. I just THOUGHT it did.

It gave me a headache. It made my stomach turn. And when I went to kiss my sweet little baby, who is learning to laugh and giggle and throw his legs in the air when he sees his mama, I felt dirty. I felt like a dirty gross mama for kissing my sweet little baby who loves me so. I washed my teeth like ten times before I kissed him. I love kissing him, that's a lot of brushing I would have to do if I kept this up.

So, me and hubs (yes, he smelled like ass and tasted the ass and choked on the ass all the same), are starting over at square one. We realized that those nasty things are not what we want. We have something missing inside ourselves that we need to find. Even if it means seeking that filling takes a lifetime.

Thank you, to all of you. To those who are my friends and love me, and those who are my internet friends and care. It meant alot.

Now back to your regularly scheduled ass program.

Monday, January 24, 2005

Gonna break

I am about to go back to smoking.

I can't take it.

Today- as humorous as it is, is the three month mark for me. It seems like three fucking years.

My kids are getting to me. My life is getting to me. I can't take it.

I see people with cigs dangling out of their mouths and I want one. I want to inhale the sweet smoke and have a ciggy in my hand, and blow out the stresses of my world.

I almost told the Hubs to get a pack tonight. He is on the verge as well. We are breaking. Cracking. Crumbling.

Reason's I keep saying to myself are:

Don't get offended. This is for me to remind myself for my own sake.

1.) We will smell like ass.
I hate the smell of it. And to think of my kids smelling like it bothers me to no end.

2.) More money down the drain. When I wanna go get wings and beer with my girlfriend. I can. I don't hafta go "I can't pay tonight. I can't go..." and then she ends up paying for me and I feel like a moron. I actually pay for my own wings and beer, or my own caramel macchiato and marble loaf. Yes, I said marble loaf.

3.) The Baby. He only knows of mommy and daddy's smell. Our natural smell. Now he will smell mommy and daddy smelling of cigs. Nasty. I have a smell thing going on, can you tell?

4.) The Girl and The Boy. They don't get as sick as they used to. Usually they are getting sick every friggin month. They have been healthier than ever.

5.) Running. I can run with my kids and not have to stop because I am out of breath.

6.) Life. I don't have to one day die of a disease I caused on my own doing because I was being selfish. I can also do that eating a million donuts, but that's another entry. So, shut up.

Again, if you smoke, do not take offense. These are my own reasons.

Almost everyone I know smokes. That's another huge reason why I can't seem to think it's so bad. I mean it's all around us. That makes it hard. I see people with them dangling and inhaling and tasting it and puffing it and it makes me WANT TO HAVE ONE.


I mean I am gonna weigh like fucking 500 pounds if I keep eating like this, to curb this intensity!

So, please send a little white light our way. Even though these reasons are seemingly very important and well put together. They aren't enough for an addict.

And that's what I am... addicted in my fucking mind to a cancer stick that tastes like peppermint.

Sunday, January 23, 2005

Note to self...

Note to self...

Do not eat raw vegetables ie; celery, cuke sticks, carrots.
When you have 'rhoids the size of grapes coming out of your ass during monthly bleeding time.

Yea, pretty visual, eh?

I swear to you that I saw the lining of my anus in the toilet water.

Friday, January 21, 2005

little fists

little fists

Silly Daddy

Thursday, January 20, 2005

letting go

Letting go..

I had to let go of someone who was once close to me last night.

I had to say good bye. As if I were on my deathbed.

I had to let it all go into the wind. 24 years of a friendship that was started in a little school yard in 1981.

I once had this friend, she and I were inseperable. We went through years of being children of addicts. We were each other's support when our parent's were going through binges of drugs or alchohol. We were each other's touchstones no matter how hard it seemed.

She even introduced me to my husband. She knew he was the perfect person for me. That's how close we were. We could finish each other's sentences. Pick up each other's step in a heartbeat.

She is now an addict. She is now lost. And me? Well, little ol' me has tried to pick up the pieces of what I thought was the puzzle to the schoolyard picture, and I have tried diligently over years and years to put it all back together. Last night, I gave up.

I had to let her go. I wrote her a goodbye letter that was worthy of a "spilling your guts and letting it all out" award.

Will she reply? I have no idea. I have decided if she calls not to pick it up. If she writes not to open it, and if she emails me I have her blocked.

She has thrown my frienship around like trash. Disappearing and reappearing back and forth over time. I can't do that anymore. Within two days of her trying to enter my life again, I felt drained, sick, and just not myself. She is not that worthy.

So, like I said to my husband, I could have written her "Abba dabba ooga booga, meet me at fuckensteins castle, where we will unleash the purple fur twats..." and she would read it the same fucking way as what I wrote originally. Because she is that lost. She won't get it.

But, I get it. And that letter was written for ME. For closure. For my own fucking good and no other reason.

I can't help but think of being in that schoolyard 24 years ago, and how a lifetime of having her in my life would end up so sadly.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

I dunno if I can pull this off.

I dunno if I can pull this off.

I have vowed to stop cussing so much.

My friend had her kids over today, and all I could do to stop saying FUCK and MOTHER FUCKER and all that goodness, was really hard. I even slipped. I think she wanted to smack me.

My mouth is dirty. Like John Mayer says in Comfortable.

" She says the bible is all that she reads and prefers that I not use profanity.... your mouth was, so dirty."

Even though, my first intitial thought was she had a dirty mouth because she gave good head, or because she needed to brush more often. I soon realized he meant she was like ME! She cussed like a FUCKING COCK SUCKING SAILOR.

So, yea. I need to not cuss so much. Because I have three little kids. Like my friend. She cusses, but she cusses when it's us, and we are having fun with wings and beer, and when we are acting like FUCKING lunatics driving around in the snow trying not to go back home, where we SHOULDN'T CUSS.

Example: her youngest son, runs into my middle son, and we laugh. Because it's so cute as they collide and are falling to the ground and are in pain. Just kidding. No pain.

But it's funny, because we call him the baby rhino, cause he is so cute and rough when he hugs people, and my middle son is just taking these hugs and falling to the ground and wincing and laughing in half pain, half hilarity.

So, I, I go "OMG HOW FUCKING HILARIOUS!" I caught myself like SEVENTEEN HUNDRED TIMES today. I dunno if she did. But I did. That's bad.

I need to say words like fecking, and effing, and darnit and shitzui. And stuff. Or not even that stuff. I am a horrible mother, people.

It's bad. And also, because, I caught my three year old son, calling his Doctor Octopus action figure an asshole the other day.

Sunday, January 16, 2005

Gasious Clay

Gasious Clay

I have bad gas.

Eat wings and drink beer two nights in a row, and see how fucking horrendous your ass and mouth can act simultaneously.

After a romantic night with my husband, I got out of bed, and went:
"PWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWW" ::giggle giggle:: then... "Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrp".

His response:
"Jeesus Christ! WHAT the FUUUUUCK?!"

Saturday, January 15, 2005

I am retarded please be patient.

I am retarded please be patient.

Something happened today.

I fucked up my comments.

Because I am retarded in more ways than one.

I have, though, gotten the sweetest of emails from my readers. Thanks guys and gals. You are all too cool.

I hopefully will have this up and running again. But until then. Please email me at the pretty lady button on the right side over there.

Lovingly retarded,
Mariposa Chocha

Friday, January 14, 2005

Thanks for all of your suggestions.

And Luis. Yours was about the most interesting, but the most sincere. So thanks. I have an uncle that deals with herbs and things of that nature. If the situation gets so bad that The Boy needs to be rubbed down with spiritual salts and oils, then I will do what I have to do.

Last night was a bit better. We ignored him after trying all other measures. He exhausted himself with his own whining. And he fell asleep on his bedroom floor. We put him in his bed and he was fine all night.

He is just going through a shithead stage. And it could be the negativity in the house from all sorta things. I guess I will have to go back to my Wiccan books stored in the basement and see if I can cut an onion in half and have it soak up the negative.

Then, I will put a mirror in my kitchen in front of my door, so that when people come over they can see themselves in it, and if they freak out they never return. Via Feng Shui.

Then, I will run around in a velvet cloak with nothing underneath and twiddle me nipples when no one is looking. Just kidding. But that sounds like fun.

Thanks again. Eventually, he will become tired of himself. Either that or mommy will go to the local nut ward, because that sounds more and more appealing every single day.

Hairy Scary

There is a local crustified and dusty assed newsman that does his thing every morning. His segment is called "Kickin' it with Kenny!".

Well, Kenny has a thing going on Ebay this morning and will be going on for nine days straight.

He is selling his hair.


He had it shaved off and is selling it for the Red Cross to help aid in the Tsunami Relief.

If you would like to have some of his hair... to suck on, to fondle, or to just sprinkle all over you while soaked in honey. Or if you would like it just to have for whatever sick fucking reason... go here.

Or just go and look and see what a lame ass I am in the morning. Because only someone lame can watch something this LAME go on.

Couldn't he have, like donated a shirt instead? WHY FUCKING HAIR? HAIR SCARES ME NO MATTER WHERE IT COMES FROM! Not to mention from the head of a freaky weird news dude.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Postcard from the edge

Postcard from the edge

I am going on very small amounts of sleep right now.

Lots of coffee and very little sleep.

You would think the reason for this lack of sleep would be my three month old. But it isn't. It's because of my Three YEAR old.

He has been going through some intense and strange changes. I began thinking it was because of the baby. But I am starting to think it's more than that.

Like, he has ADHD more than that.
Or something else.

I can't deal.

We don't let him nap, and play with him, and cut his sugar intake and everything we can think of. But come bedtime, we are fighting with him for over two hours to get him to stay down. To lay down. To go to fucking sleep. And he won't. He is up every night, except for a choice few nights where we tried new things, but he soon got tired of those new things and is now up until midnight or beyond.

How? How can a small child, run on such energy?

How can he? I don't get it. He gets up at 6-7 a.m. every morning with us. He doesn't nap AT ALL.

Granted, he wants to sleep after dinner time, but we keep him up. The one night I let him go to bed at 7:30 he woke up at 10 oclock wanting to play.


A friend of mine suggested an herbal tincture in his juice, another friend told me to try letting him down for a nap in the early morning, and my MIL who had 4 kids of her own just says "I went through this with your husband. Him and his brother. I don't know what to tell you." WHADDYA MEAN YOU DONT KNOW WHAT TO TELL ME!?? GODAMNIT! YOU WENT THROUGH THIS! HOW COULD YOU NOT THROW ME A FUCKING BONE!????

I am snapping. At him. At the cat. At the carpet. At everything.

The Baby on the other hand, slept from 9 oclock to 5 this morning.

I must have been really fucked up in another life. 'Cause my ass is paying three fold and then some right now.

Goodnight. I mean... well. Good day.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005



I need to give you a real quick explanation of my relationship with my Grandmother from Puerto Rico, before I go on any further.

It's non-existent.

She decided to "kill me off" in her mind back in 1999. For whatever reason, she had never really explained.

She is half cracked in the head. Never was completely there. And from what my mother tells me, there is a HUGE history of depression and "cracked nuttiness" on my materal side of the family.

THAT explains a whole fucking lot. Thanks for telling me this AFTER I HAD CHILDREN, MOM!

Just kidding.

Anyway, when she came to Ohio back in 2003, I decided to call her up at my uncle's house where she was staying. To try to make amends of our "situation" and to FIND OUT WHY she had decided I wasn't worthy of her.

Know what she said to me?

In spanish and really mean?

"You are dead to me. You are no more to me." and she hung up on me.

She had never seen The Boy, and knew I almost lost him during a very scary pregnancy. That he only had a 50/50 chance of survival in my womb.

But yet, didn't give two shits that she was now IN THE SAME STATE as we were and that we were living TEN MINUTES away from where she was staying. Didn't wanna see him or The Girl.

She just told me I was dead.

So, I went through a sort of grieving process where it was like she died. And I cried, and I remembered her when I was little and how much she meant to me. And then I let her go. I had closure and I let her go.

Me and mom talk about her and my grandfather- (oh yea, he called me like five minutes after she hung up on me and said "this is probably the last time we will talk in our lifetimes, I love you, goodbye.")we talk about them in past tense. It's kinda sad. But, hey.

On to what I was gonna say about today and why I am talking about them, in particular her evil ass.

My aunt had stopped by today, to drop off some job openings and numbers for my mother (because my mother is sinking into a deep depression I can tell. I need to help her. No matter what.)... And when she was leaving, I gave her some little wallet photos of the kids I made with my photo printer. One is the one I have over to the right in my blog description of the three kids.

My aunt goes " I will have to hide these from your uncle. Your grandparents have been asking him to sneak them a picture of your kids so they can see them".

I started laughing. I said, "please hide those, he will send them and I don't want evil eyes laid upon my babies heads." she said she would put them in her cubicle until my uncle's obsession about sneaking pictures subsides.

Then, she said- "that woman wouldn't appreciate them anyway. She bitched to him back in 1999 about how you sent her CHEAP AND HORRIBLE pictures of The Girl for Christmas that year. She said something about how you are so cheap you took the baby to K-Mart for Christmas photos...."

I about gasped.


So then I told her... "Know what! Tell Uncle Vinny I am gonna SEND HER SOME SPECIAL PICTURES OF THE KIDS." She gave me this look and grinned.

"Mari... no, you are not going to, are you?"

I smiled and said "for the old grandbitch, I am going to dress them in clothing too small, with dirty faces and barefoot in the mud, and then send her a fucking 8X10 and tell her I had them professionally taken just for her. I mean afterall, wouldn't you want to see pictures of your hillbilly assed great grandkids before you died?"

I know if I was an evil old grandbitch, I would want to.

I shoulda worked for John Kerry

I shoulda worked for John Kerry

... cause then I could make him sparkly insane banners. And have people get pissed off because I am promoting his running for snarkiest blog on the BOB's.


So very very cool and real cool and stuff.


Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Fucking Wiccan

Fucking Wiccan

I am such a dumbass.

I was rereading my post from earlier, the one I wrote in a tizzy, because I was off to get The Girl from school, and my mother in law was hovering in the kitchen nearby (she watches the boys for me when I go get The Girl at school)... wondering what it was that I write in everyday and then quickly X out when she enters a room. (Not that there is anything in here about her, because I am smarter than that shit).

Anyhow, I put "... you will see how fucking insanely wicken Mother Nature can be."

Yea, Mother Nature is insanely Fucking Wiccan. I am such a typo asshole.

I should ask my husband what it is like to fuck a Wiccan. I used to be one. And he used to fuck me, so hence, fucking a Wiccan. Get it?

Yea, I was once a wanna-be Wiccan. I was such a stupid ass. I should have known that the Catholic Church had my soul and brainwashed me so badly, that being an open minded and curious adult would NEVER work out for me. So, I went back to being a Catholic. A "Pillow Church" Catholic. The kind that says "Thank you Jesus for being there for me and giving me my husband and my babies and for giving me breath and food and stuff, Amen" while I am half eye open and half eye closed in bed at 10:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning. That kinda Catholic. The one pissed off at the church for saying I am not a "REAL Catholic" because I don't hand over the envelope with ten bucks in it each week, so that they can get pretty marble floors and gorgeous stained glass windows depicting The Stoning Of St. Stephen. If such a thing can be gorgeous.

I don't need nobody to tell me that Jesus be loving me.

Jesus loves me, this I know. Cause my Mama told me so.

Really Quick

I have to literally leave in like 4 minutes to get my daughter.
To slide across a field of sleet and snow and fetch my youngen from school. Wee. I am so excited.

Anyhow, I must tell you that I do not recommend looking at victims of the tsunami. Please do not be as FUCKING RETARDED AS I AM, and become curious and click on that ever forbidden link posted on Flickr. Because when you do, you will see how fucking insanely wicked Mother Nature can be.

And you will have nightmares.

Bad mother fucking nightmares. Of bloated zombies. At the foot of your bed. Looking at you. No words spoken. Just looking.

Scary, huh?

Yea, I know. I am SO FUCKING STUPID.

Also, when a disaster of HUMUNGOUS PROPORTIONS happens and you are 3 months post partum, I recommend not READING ABOUT IT. Because it will trigger depression deeper than you can imagine.

Ok... more on my retardedness when I come back and IF I get a chance to go online, because my children eat my time up until I collapse.

Monday, January 10, 2005

Drunken Baby

Baby Drunk




"Wait...hmm... grrr...geegum...umpha.... this thing isn't too bad... kinda helps the gums a little. In a blanket sort of way... ya know?"

"I actually feel kinda better now. I feel like me again! Hmm... not bad. Much better than feeling like my diaper is in a bunch..."

"I think I am gonna keep sucking on this thing. It's kinda like what mommy says is 'beer'? I think so!"

"Look! Now I am doing an impression of Fonzie! 'Ayyyy! Exactamundo!' Heee Heeee! Giggle Tee hee!"

"Yea, it's beer. Baby Beer. Baby blanket beer. Hee hee. I feel silly. I don't feel mean anymore. I feel ... I feel like making a Bill Cosby face... mmm Jello Pudding ...hee hee! I am what mommy says is drunk. Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

Happy Three Months Birthday Munson Baby Boy! Mommy is 2 days late, but you will learn all about that in time.

Sunday, January 09, 2005

Almost didn't come back

Almost didn't come back

My friend and I decided that we needed to get the FUCK out of our houses last night. So she came and scooped me up and we disappeared into the night as our husbands were left with three kids each.

Did we look back? No.

Shit, I didn't want to come back.

I never thought I could make chicken wings and a drive around in the snow last for 4 fucking hours, but we did somehow.

I felt like I smoked a doobie. That's how relaxed I was without three kids and a husband. I felt like I had just smoked a fat fucking doobage. I even giggled like I did.

I giggled so fucking hard, that my throat hurts today.

I didn't want to come back people.

When I say that I am not kidding. I think maybe, that there is something within me that could run and never turn back. It's scary. I think I could just take off and pretend that this all never existed. And become a trailer park woman who lives in the shadows.

But, I did come back. And here I am. Back in the land of poop and diapers and screaming children. It even smells like poop in here. Like baby poop. Baby poop and Kool Aid.

Can I shoot myself?


Thursday, January 06, 2005

Hi, I am Pathetic Jones.

Hi, I am Pathetic Jones.

How fucking pathetic was I last night?

Oy vay.

Anyhow, today - was just like any other day. Infuckingsane.

My three year old followed me out into the snow bluster.

While I chased some mail that escaped from my mailbox. It fell into some icey slushy assed puddle.

And The Boy followed me, outside, in the snow bluster, in below freezing weather, with SHORTS ON. He had boots though, so at least he isn't that lost.

And all the while I am chasing a fucking envelope, my husband pulls into the driveway, and tried to go around the neighbor's car and got stuck in the field next to our house. He got stuck, in the snow, and ice and mush.

Me and my brother in laws had to push him out. They are pussies. They didn't push very well. I pushed hardest and I never even gave vaginal birth.

Must be all that practice I get from taking enormous shits.

I am a day late. BUT DELURK.

I am a day late. BUT DELURK.

I am a day late.

I am always late.

That should explain so many pregnancies in my lifetime.

But anywho, if you are a lurker- AND GODAMN IT I KNOW PEOPLE LURK- please de-lurk yourself. Like my friend SJ said at

"...You. Sitting in the cubicle, eating a lunch stolen from a coworker...YOU, the woman with 12 kids and a case of the 'rhoids...."


Thank you. Now back to your regularly scheduled program.



I just read this as I was reading up on everyone...

It's so true it's hilarious, and scary all at once.

Monkey Quote of the Day: "A blog is something you don't mind thousands of people from around the globe reading. (as long as they're not in your family or you work with them or you're sleeping with them).

How fucking true is that?

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

I have no life

I have no life

I have no life. I will not be allowed to have a life. My 3 month old rules it.


He doesn't like me, his brother, his father, his sister, his cat, his teething ring, his bottle, his pacifier, his mobile, his diaper change, his ANYTHING. He is PISSED. ANd I must find a way to make him un-pissed. Because I am turning INSANE.

** on another note:
my comments are working now. They were screwed up a few days ago and I had to redo the coding.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Venti Venti EYE EYE!

Venti Venti EYE EYE!

I dropped The Girl off at school this morning.
I was walking her up to the doors and gave her the big old "have a good day I love you MUAH" thing that she is beginning to hate.

I headed back and looked at her gym teacher, who is always out there guiding parental traffic. He, for some reason, really bugged me.

There he was, in his gym teacher garb. Whistle. Sweatshirt with the school logo. and GYM SHORTS. He always wears Gym shorts. No matter what the weather.

His eyes. His eyes bugged out, beyond belief. Him screaming "let's go, let's go! Off to school we go!" The kids staring at him with side glances, and you know they are saying "Fuck off wanker" inside their little minds.

Then I got a mental picture that bothered me even more.

Him at Starbucks ordering a Venti Venti espresso with an extra shot of caffeine. Him drinking the Venti Venti and going home and palming it to Clay Aiken while he screams "VENTI VENTI EYE EYE!".

I dunno what's worse- him, or my elementary school gym teacher caught watching the girls as they changed.
Or my high school gym teacher that was a lesbian with hair like Fozzy Bear who used to make us run laps over and over again as she watched our adolescent tits bounce with glee.

Bad memories now. I need a moment to myself.

I feel disturbed now.

Hold me.

Monday, January 03, 2005

Sock it to me

My three year old son is obsessed with the song Respect by Aretha Franklin.

So much, that when he gets his hankering to sing it and listen to it, I have to put the CD player on repeat. And I hear it... over and over and over.

He is now in the kitchen, singing it to my 3 month old.
The baby is staring at him, and is in disgust. I think, it's because he is a little old soul, and that 1967 was a very bad year for him.'

But big brother don't care.

"R-E-F-P-P P!... Ohhhhhhhhh YOU KISSES is so sweeeee-ter than me honeys!"

And why, at the end of the song, is Aretha talking about "you're ruining our food... and I ain't lyin'!"

Godamn Aretha... is food that important to you that you gotta sing about it in a song about respect?

Sock it to me. Sock it to me.

Saturday, January 01, 2005

Happy Hee Haw

Happy Hee Haw

To you and your Mamaw's and Papaws'
Happy Hee Haw!