Nadya Suleman sleeps with stuffed animals

I’m not feeling bitchy or anything, I’m just bored. I originally wrote this a few weeks ago, but I’ve updated it in a couple of places with *asterisks*.

What happened to the good old-fashioned hot and steamy way of making a baby? In case you’re lost (crazy mom who pays for sperm) maybe you should go back to the Build-A-Bear workshop. I’m thinking she wouldn’t understand because her bed is filled with stuffed kitty-cats and assorted inanimate objects.

I’m talking about SEX. I’m talking about a woman getting naked with a man, and the chemistry is so WOW they can think of nothing in the heat of the moment but YOWZA… see, she wouldn’t understand.

If these are true sex fiends in the rawest form (and what’s so wrong with that?) they’ll soon have a tiny little version of themselves demanding constant attention for the next 18 years. Actually it’s more like 35, but who’s counting?


This college grad/fridge artist appreciates his mother’s cooking.

I’m not against sperm banks. It’s just I’d always thought they were for lesbians? Well? I can’t think of any other reason they should exist. But I can remember hearing something possibly 15 years ago about a handful of straight ‘mature’ women who for one reason or another were having trouble rustling up some quality jizz the traditional way. They thought having kids when they were all shagged out was the ultimate way to feel or stay young while making some use of an idle vag.

Idiots! Having kids is as anti-youth as you can get. It speeds up the aging process. You have a kid when you’re 20 and BAM! You’re 30. Just like that. Having a kid is not something to put off until you’re 40 people! But enough about procrastinators. This is about Nadya Suleman.


She makes Angelina Jolie look… nearly harmless?

She has some serious problems I don’t think even Dr. Phil could handle if he were a doctor. Having all 6 plus 8 more of her children with NO SEX is just the tip of the iceberg.

When the story first broke* it didn’t seem nearly as horrible. We couldn’t see her face. And it was reported she worked in the medical field, had a great salary and was living in a home her parents had bought for her. If a couple wants to help their responsible, hard-working daughter who loves kids and can afford to give her a house, then what’s the big deal? I thought not to freak out over some random woman having a shit load of kids at once.

*That story probably came from her PR lady, before she turned piss-yellow and quit recently. I guess she thought doing it pro bono would help drum up business, but in the end maybe she learned PR isn’t about being an outright lying bitch. It’s more like diminishing the negatives and highlighting the positives. Hulk Hogan could do better.

Now the story has taken a dramatic turn. Truth is, she doesn’t have a job at all and has been mooching off of hard-working folks while continuing to breed without the aid of a penis. And, Miss My-Womb-Is-So-Awesome-Men-Hate-Me is living with her parents too? WTF? All 9 family members crammed into a 3 bedroom shanty? So many questions I have! Well, actually just a few…

· When she was a kid, why did her parents insist on having loud, raunchy sex with their bedroom door open? It could’ve happened.

· Depending on the situation, why didn’t her parents either kick her out of their house on child number 3 or prevent her from moving in with them in the first place? So what if the grandkids are disabled. There comes a time when you need to explain to your grown child the concept of being an adult. It means in the very least if you lose your job and can’t support the kids you already have, you should stop having kids.

They could’ve packed her shit up, pointed her into the direction of a homeless shelter and kept the kids as collateral. She probably owed them a fortune at that point. But no, they let her and the 6 offspring live with them… I’m just saying, I think the cuckoo bird might not fly very far from the tree, which houses a entire family of cuckoo birds.

· Where oh where are they planning on putting 8 babies?* I guess the master plan consists of dresser drawers, cardboard boxes and incest.

*The true plan has since been revealed. She has a website (surprise!) and is accepting donations. No one saw that coming! And really no one but she is more deserving of the public’s generosity. It isn’t like the money would be wasted, since the nearest Child Protection Agency shouldn’t be preparing right now to swoop in. Maybe it’s not Texas, but come on now…

*And I hear Sarah Palin is happy she won’t be losing any of her website’s donors over this. But I just have to ask… Would Sarah Palin give you a kidney?

I wish I could be the one to tell her that she has no chance in hell of ever starring in a movie with Brad Pitt and then stealing him away. Sorry Nadya, but you will never make Mrs. Pitt the next Jennifer Aniston.

What if I’m wrong and she wants Angelina Jolie?

Either way, someone better remove her uterus, put her in a straightjacket, THEN explain to her how babies are made. Force her to watch celebrity sex tapes. (*Rather than starring in them - I just read her wiki page at the last minute here, and she’s received a serious offer to make a porno!) It could make Paris Hilton and Pamela Anderson feel like their work was suddenly making a difference. (*Or if she accepts the offer and does porn herself she’d be teaching others, therefore righting all of her wrongs?)

Who is crazier… Nadya Suleman or Sarah Palin?

When I fill up I won't be thinking about Kucinich

Dennis Kucinich came to me in a dream and said, “Look at these gas prices! Don’t you think it’s odd - the closer we get to Election Day the lower they go? Don’t you see what’s going on here?”

Then three gigantic men in shades, suit jackets and Speedos came out of nowhere and grabbed him. They slapped duct tape over his mouth, forced him into a straightjacket, threw him into the back of a van and took off so fast I could actually taste gravel. Yum. Then I awoke to my 3-month-old puppy licking my face and mouth. Needless to say, I felt like I got gypped. I was always under the impression, if a dog sucks your face while sleeping aren’t you supposed to dream it’s someone hot and horny, and not dirt hitting your face? Stupid dog. You sleep alone tonight.

The guys who hauled Kucinich off were wearing candy-striped Speedos, so does that make them gay or me gay (for having the dream)?


Isn't watching this after my daughters have left the room somehow okay?

It makes me a dimwit (and there are many layers here). I’m thinking no one in the gay community would be caught dead in candy stripes. Something tells me they’ve been trying to take out Richard Simmons for years, but he’s a sniper’s worst nightmare. (Stand still, dammit!)

This whole candy-striped thing has me in a tizzy. It really killed the sharp-dressed image my subconscious was trying to achieve with their suit jackets and dark sunglasses. So I think I should throw out the Disney movies and tell the girls the puppy chewed them into oblivion. Better yet, I’ll just put one in his food dish every day and call it redemption for loosening up my shoelaces (they always seem to unravel when I’m at work and on the stairs). Well, that and the chewed up internet cords (do they taste better than other cords?), making me scrub the carpet, and I can’t forget the unwanted face bath. I don’t know what’s worse - the fact that I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on Disney movies since my kids could see, or that my puppy chews on shoes and licks his balls before kissing me.

So that was one crazy dream/nightmare/make-out-session-with-my-dog. But concerning recent gas prices, I’d be the last one on earth to complain. They’ve been falling like they can’t get up. We went from $4.10/gal to $2.45 in what seemed like just a month. In fact, I’m getting excited right now wondering how low the price might possibly drop by Friday. I’m stuck with a gas hog at the moment, so for me, checking out the latest smoking hot price on the gas station sign has been just like a hot stud talking dirty to me.





Each time I drive by I wonder, Is today the day I’ll finally stop and let loose? I’ve still got enough to last another week, but I’m telling you, it’s taking all of my willpower to keep from hittin’ that. When I do prime the pump I want to make it worthwhile, so I’ll be filling up until it can’t take no more. And when I do give in to my desire, will I grab the pump slowly and savor the moment? Or will I rush right into it - stuff it in and squeal in delight with each gallon that enters my tank?

We’ll see. For now I’ll be holding out as long as possible. Nothing like letting the excitement build. But when I do it, I’m hoping everyone at the station will be inside the building or fighting in their trucks. I’d like a little privacy.

It's so hard to find a good doctor these days

I went to the doctor and said, “At night I’m having trouble falling asleep, and stay awake long after the kids have gone to bed.”

“No problem. I can prescribe you some good sleeping pills,” he said.

“But there’s more,” I continued. “When I finally do fall asleep, I don’t want to wake up.”

The doctor interrupted a second time. “Sounds like depression, and if that’s the case, no worries. Nothing a good prescription won’t fix.”

“Wait, there’s more. When I get home from work and my sweet, darling children talk to me I feel a strong urge to grab a beer and take a long swig every time they say, ‘Mom’ or ‘Can you…’. If I actually followed through, in a couple of hours I’d be drunker than Amy Winehouse at a Sunday brunch.”

I sometimes wonder if it’s just her name. Maybe if she changed it to ‘Amy Straighthouse’ or ‘Amy Soberhouse’ it would help her image? Maybe at least help keep her from always looking totally trashed?


Nah.

He winced. “Sounds like you might have the drinking disease. Any alcoholism in your family?”

“No. None. Having lots of kids is the only thing that runs in my family.”

While he scratched his head, I continued describing my symptoms. “When we’re at the grocery store, I want to throw all of the frozen foods into my cart and totally empty out the freezer case.”

“Hunger?”

“No. ‘Cause then it would be easier to stuff my kids into the freezer case.”

“Oh.”

“Just until they begged for mercy,” I added.

He frowned. “It sounds like you’re having early symptoms of a disease called KCJB - Kidamage Caustrating Jellocious Braindeadeous.”

I let out a puzzled, “Hmm?”

He continued, “In plain English - Kids Causing Jellied Brain. It’s very real, and you should be very afraid. The more kids you have, the worse it will be for you in the end. And you’ve got like - let me see your chart - holy kidlets. Five. You should be crapping your pants. Right now. I wish I could tell you there’s a cure. But what I can tell you is, there’s no cure.”

I let out a stunned, “Huh?”

“Luckily, you do have some time left to enjoy life. Mainly in those precious hours you spend away from your children. But eventually your entire brain is going to turn to jelly. One big blob of jam that will be totally useless. If I had to guess, based on everything you’ve told me, I’d say it could happen in about five years. That’s not so bad. You’ll be 40 then, so your life will basically be over anyway.”

I let out a - nothing. Just dropped my jaw into my lap.

He continued, “I admire your gaping mouth. So I’ve been thinking. You know what? I can’t lie to you and say this disease is entirely incurable. There’s nothing wrong with being proactive, now that you know what fate lies ahead. So I’ll let you know - and this needs to be kept just between you and me - I’ll totally cover you, if you want to pull a Yates.”

“If I pull a what?!”

He continued, “Shh! Not so loud. I’m trying to help you here. Surely you’ve heard of that mother who drowned her five kids?”

“Um yeah, the psycho-mama. I don’t want to drown anyone. No offense.”

He put a finger to his chin and thought for a minute. “Well, seriously? You’re going to shoot that one down without any consideration? ‘Cause although you’d be in a hospital for the rest of your life, it would be a long life without jam for a brain. You’d retain your sanity. No one will know. You plead insanity, I’ll back you. I’ve got a doctor pal working with a certain defense lawyer, and my friend owes me some favors. Think about it.”

“No.”

“Oh well. I got it! How about an accident? Here’s a good one. It’s simple. Take the kids on a hunting trip. ‘Accidentally’ make them your target.”

“HELL no.”

“Um, alright. Too violent. Okay. I got it! Take them on a long drive into the mountains. ‘Accidentally’ lose them in the middle of nowhere. The wolves and bears should take good care of them. Worst case scenario: one makes it out alive. Two tops.”

I stood up to leave. “Thanks Doc, but I think the only real solution is to send the kids to live with their grandparents. After everything I’ve learned about KCJB today, I’m thinking it’s a good idea. It’s become pretty clear - Mom and Dad are already a couple of jam heads.”

The doctor’s eyes lit up.
















“Great Scott! Now why didn’t I think of that?”


Hmm. He looks awfully familiar.

Magic beans, and what not...

I have this crazy sleep schedule. After a hard day’s work I lie on the sofa to watch some TV and end up passing out for a few hours. Then I catch a few more hours of sleep in the early morning until the phone rings at around nineish. It’s always a computer guy named Jim or gal named Jill who wants me to upgrade my cable to satellite or extend my imaginary warranty, or even consolidate my imaginary credit card debt. Point is, I could sleep through a tornado or monkey slapping my face. But for some reason I always jump out of bed and a deep sleep whenever the phone rings. So that works for me much better than an alarm clock. I’m pretty much awake the rest of the day. At least, until I get home from work. That’s how it’s been for the last few years or so. And now I need to change all of that. In fact, I just took a sleeping pill so I need to finish this as quick as a Vegas wedding so I don’t pass out and drool all over the keyboard. But that’s not a real scenario. Pills only seem to work when someone wants to get high. Well, I just need to hurry.

So my old boss called me about a week ago. I was his office manager for six months in ‘03-‘04 before he realized he could no longer afford to pay me. And regarding the business, he said, “Please! Just take it!”

Since then he’s started and apparently shut down another business that he ran without any outside help, and again started up an entirely new one. Now back to the phone call. I didn’t think much of it since he calls occasionally to see how things are going with me and/or needs a favor. One time I ended up selling sno-cones around town with one of his daughters from a golf cart because he got busy and needed me to take his place. And, he said I would pick up some extra cash. That only lasted about a month. After expenses and splitting the profit with his daughter, I raked in ten dollars a week.

Here’s how the convo went…

“Hey Alicia, sorry to call so early but I need to run something by you. Got a minute?”

“Uh… yeah. What time is it?”

“Ha ha. Hey, I’ve had this new business now for close to a year and it’s doing really well.”

“Tons of dough, huh?” Yawn.

“Like I said, it’s doing well. I have a new office in town, and it would be great if you would come work for me.”

“I’ll have to think about it. Can I keep my current job? ‘Cause I don’t really want to quit it.”

Translation: “I’m scared to death to quit a secure job when any time I’ve ever worked for you it’s only been temporary.”

“Hey, that’s no problem. We can work around your other job. Just think it over, and if you decide you want to do it give me the earliest and latest times you can work.”

Translation: “This I know. I will be your boss again. Muahahahahaha.”

“Sure, I’ll think it over and get back to you.”

Translation: “Oh shit! You really are serious, aren’t you?”

So I called him back on Friday, and he says this will eventually turn into full time with benefits.

Okay. Whatever!

I start first thing Monday morning. Wish me luck.

Sex Dream = Nightmare

Unfortunately, I almost never have an awesome dream without it ending in a terrible way. The dream in my post “Sick of Dreaming” was mild compared to this one. But the one I’m talking about today I had quite some time ago, which gives you an idea of just how memorable it was.

So I’m having the best sex dream I’ve ever had. It’s so real I don’t even know I’m actually dreaming, so it’s normal and no big deal. It’s when I’m rubbing my man’s head of hair during and after the big O that I start to realize something isn’t right. My man didn’t have a balding gene so I was puzzled, and looked down at his head. Then I thought, Shit! This isn’t my man! Um, what the hell is going on here?

So that’s when I realized I was dreaming. And as I’ve said before, it’s at that point when things get really crazy.

I couldn’t wake up, as badly as I wanted to… I tried to push this stranger off of me, but he was terribly heavy. He wouldn’t budge and his weight was crushing my chest. I couldn’t breathe, and nothing freaks me out like that! The dream had definitely evolved into a nightmare at this point. I tried to tell him to get off of me but I couldn't talk since my lungs felt like they were caving in. So I kept at it, trying to push him off until he finally got the hint and rolled over. That’s when I saw his face, and jumped out of bed in shock.

Wait for it…










Um, alright, this was the guy:

Jim Belushi.


I still couldn’t wake up, as badly as I wanted to… It only continued on a downward spiral from that point. I looked at the TV facing me at the end of the bed, and guess who was on? Oprah, that’s who, and she starts talking directly to me through the TV set like she is God or something. She tells me to go check on my kids. So I put on my panties, bra, robe and slippers in a hurry because Oprah said so (it was a nightmare after all but I don't think she could actually see my nakedness) and went down the hall to a staircase that scared the crap out of me. It was supported by ropes bolted into the ceiling, and the stairs were just wooden planks connected to all of these ropes. I’m also afraid of heights in my dreams because I could barely walk down these freaky stairs. Talk about scary shit! I thought I was going to fall and break my neck. After what seemed like an eternity I get to the floor which is in a dining room, and my kids are all seated around the table. My mother is there too, and I’m suddenly made aware that this is her house. I immediately hate my new step-dad, who is giving me dirty looks, and wonder why I’m a grown woman living with my mother. And having sexual relations in her house?! Oh my god, did they hear me?!

Then she starts grilling me about the guy in my room, and the moment she asks me if we’re going to get married, I wake up in a cold sweat.

Okay, well… the nightmare had a good beginning. I like to fondly remember the part before I nearly died with flattened lungs and pretend it was not that guy.

If your teenaged son is driving you crazy

… and you have let him turn you into a complete lunatic, don’t call me at the crack of dawn and then show up at my door or you’ll end up in my blog you foolish person you.

Here’s the deal… I don’t know why, but my kids have a few friends whose parents are severely lacking in the area of parenting skills. I know when you have a kid you don’t get a manual, and Dr. Spock is no longer cutting edge, but there is such a thing called “common sense”. And common sense dictates that I should not know where these kids are if their parents don‘t even have a clue.

Common sense also dictates that if your kid is regularly sleeping places without checking with you first, maybe you should try doing something about it so it doesn’t always become everyone else’s problem?

So I wake up way too early this morning when this woman, who has no control whatsoever over her one and only child, calls me up and I can hear her panicked voice being recorded on my answering machine. Great. I need my sleep so I ignore it, and in a few seconds I’m back in dreamland just chillin‘ and hanging out with some great people. I don’t know how much time passes, but I’m in the middle of a nice dream and the next thing I know I slightly awaken to what sounds like a big man trying to beat down my door. I was still half asleep when I opened the door.

It’s not Jesse Ventura, it’s a Miss Fug who thinks it‘s kosher to wake me up just because I‘m usually a patient person. I hate it when people assume I’ll take their shit more than a few times without doing something about it. So it’s a good thing she caught me in my foggy state, because after the fog I’ll turn into a really cranky bitch if you are on a mission to get me riled up first thing in the morning.

Anyway, I’m standing there for a sec trying to process why she is here and she starts to question me.
“Is **** here?”

Okay, thanks for waking me up before my alarm went off. You should’ve had a clue when I didn’t answer or return your call, now I’m going to give you some morning breath right in your face. You like that?

“No, **** is not here.”
Now go away and come back when you get some manners. No, don’t ask me any more questions, just go!

“Do you know where he is? He has an appointment this morning… (blah-blah-blah-I-talk-way-too-fast-for-anyone-to-understand-me-because-I’m-insane).”

That’s when I remembered, for some odd reason, that one of my sons just happened to offhandedly mention last evening where her son was going to be spending the night. And it wasn’t at her son’s pregnant girlfriend’s house like she would prefer.

So I spit out the kid’s name in one word. I’m not even talking in complete sentences at this point, I just want to her to leave. And by her reaction you’d think I had just uttered the word Satan.

At least she left in a hurry.