This annoucement was brought to you by the letter "P" and the number "1"

I recently had friends take Joshua for entire day so I could finish my death taxes and I found a curious thing. I can not, repeat with me, can not use the bathroom without extending my right leg out so he doesn’t crawl into my cosmetic cabinet while simultaneously blocking the toilet from whatever toy he’s trying to dunk in with me all at the same time my left knee is being shoved against the tub with his legs.

Good times.

Health nuts needs not read this

This afternoon, I was snacking on one my favorite cereals, Lucky Charms, when Joshua comes and takes handful.  He’s never been home while I’ve had them, so I didn’t know what he would think.  Promptly, he dug through, ate all the marshmallows and handed me back the cereal like I was trying to feed him a handful of poop. 

I have nothing left to teach him.

Martha Steward meets Sanford and Son

I recently had a new neighbor move in. I was hoping for a nice quit neighbor, much like me, who doesn’t need much and sure doesn’t come over to borrow sugar, because I don’t keep extra.  What did I get instead?

Martha Steward.  She has put up curtains, washed all her windows till they are shiny, and picked up the cigarettes from the rocks. Seriously.  She is a perfect housewife. 

In my mind though?  She  secretly has a junk drawer just like the rest of us.

How to take a bath in three stages or more

• Prepare bath, Enya cd, and candles.  Get in bath.
• Baby wakes up, 5 minutes into much needed soaking, get out.
• Sooth baby, put him back to back 45 minutes later.
• Find bath water cold and start over.
• Get shampoo in hair, baby wakes up again.
• Get out with hair 1/2 rinsed out.
• Fall asleep with baby in chair, only to find hair crunchy in the morning.
• Get shower ready, toys ready for baby to play with while in shower.
• Get in shower, only to find baby crawling in with you.
• Turn water to cooler temperature and cuss profusely under your breath.

I’m bringing back the fun, bitches

This is an open letter to myself and any one reading this.  I am a fun person.  I used to write about being a fun person.  If I’m making a fool of myself out in the open where everyone can see it, then I am not ashamed to write about it here or anywhere else.

But my blog hasn’t reflected that for a long time now and you want to know why?  Because I had my heart shattered, torn apart and handed back to me.  And the person still continues to read here once in while.  I don’t mind that.  Read it, buddy.  Guess, what, I’m moving on.  You can call me a whore, and believe what you want to believe, but I’m taking back my blog.  Did you read that?  I’m taking it back.

If I burp in public again, I’m goning write about.  If I have a date and it goes well, I’m going to write about.  If you don’t like it?  Don’t read it.  You are the one who walked away by doing what you did.  I have censored and protected myself from you long enough.  I’m not going to do it anymore. 

So, lets get the party started, bitches.  Because Melissa needs to rock the house. 

Spell check caught my spelling error "gonna" and suggested gonad for me.  I’m loving it already.

Happy Easter