A taste of MiScHieF.....

Right, so the junk mail has improved. Today is the second day in a row that I have received cookie samples on my doorknob. (Eat cookies that you've found on your doorstep, Michelle? Sounds like a great idea.) I kind of wish it was my job to sneak around the neighborhood leaving samples of cookies for total strangers like a friendly little elf/nutjob- frolicking from house to house with my grocery bag full of cookie samples. I wonder if homemade cookies would be as well received... Hmm... Guess I'll add it to the bucket list.

Anyhow, these are not just your run of the mill, left on your doorknob cookie samples, folks. Upon first look, I thought they were condoms. I. DID. I'd thought that Fluffy Sparkles might have given up her personal directive of breaking a world record for the largest pile of dead mice on a door mat in the morning in favour of promoting safer sex.... But Fluffy Sparkles has been fixed, you see. I am not sure she puts much thought into such racy things these days. She's kind of a prude.

There was good reason to believe that someone planted birth control on my doorknob though, Dorkherd. If you have a look, you'll notice that there are two parties featured on the front of the box looking very interested in each other, one being a shirtless, spit polished, somewhat radioactive looking cowboy for added intrigue and the other being the once pure blossoming virgin with new and confusing thoughts about the new farm hand. The package DOES say, 'Lifestyle' so give me a break. It totally looks like some kind of Condom door hanger. I was pretty sure that if I flipped over the box, it would conveniently read, "Do Not Disturb" in case the finder of the samples got into a total frenzy upon finding this racy sample box hanging from their door knob and needed a sign to warn potential droppers by about why they should return maybe later.

However, upon finding that the packaging actually read "Peek Freans", it all clicked. Peek Freans, EH?? Oh I see what's happening here. They've made their cookies sexier and more appealing to adult tastes... Mood cookies, one could call them. Well I'm no fool. I opened the package and there was definitely no prophylactics in there with the cookies. NONE. Did they think I'd get so wrapped up in the moment and FORGET? Not a chance. You know what else I know? Peek Freans make baby cookies. You reading me here? PEEK FREANS are trying to get me pregnant so I'll ALSO buy the baby cookies. I'd have to buy more baby cookies if I got pregnant. Well it's a good thing I'm wise to this dastardly pyramid marketing ploy. Dodged a bullet there. I already have a hoard of baby cookies, thankyouverymuch.

Yep. See? It's just cookies in a little airline-ish package. Less impressive in your wallets... or are they?

Because this would totally impress a date, if the person were worth dating thatis. Seeing how your date reacts to something like this is pretty much a fool proof method of finding out if they're the one.

Vanilla Bean Latte Harlequin Cookies. They make me feel dirty. No- like really dirty. Because I ate them off the porch.

ThE FiRsT InsTaLLmeNt oF............... Dial Meow for Murder.

Episode: Things Fluffy-Sparkles the Cat has massacred on my property.

I say first installment, because we usually get maybe one day per week off from walking outside and nearly stepping on the corpse of some poor little creature. I would like to drive home the fact, straight away that my yard is roughly the size of a generous postage stamp. Each day, the kids skip happily outside and without fail, they declare the death of yet another cute little snow white movie extra, like frolicking little coroners.

"Whatcha playin', kids?!? Looks FuUUuuun!"
"We're playing the I jumped over it and you ate it game!"
"Oh how creativvvv---AUGH!!!!! NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. Dead animals are NOT hackey sacks!! GET in here so I can dunk you in antibacterial wash... do you feel swine-fluish? How about Bird Fluish? Rabid? When did we get a raccoon skin hat???"

On with the graphic, sadistic, macabre photographic evidence:

Yeah, that's our welcome mat. I suppose we have this coming.

That's a wee mouse's arse end, displayed on the skull & cross bones. This might be nice stuffed and mounted in a teeny tiny living room with a teeny tiny fireplace and little teeny wing chairs. Maybe I'll surprise Libby with a new feature for her barbie house.

Poor Dudes. I was only kidding when I was talking about a Vlad the Impaleresque display on my lawn to scare off the noisy spring birds, I SWEAR. Althouuuuugh......

Not pictured:
*The dead mother mouse' head, surrounded in a semi circle by her little pink babies. Like a dead-mouse-family flower mosaic.

*The head of the mouse who's arse is shown, which was on the back step instead of the front.

She's a very creative kitty.

Glah.

My household is now entering week 2983740934899238742 of the Godless Plague flu. I'll be back soonly. For now, the neo citran-benelyn cocktails will be running my life.

I would blog about something else, but the only place I've been outside of my house are the glorious, replenishing aisles of Shopper's Drug Mart where I slithered along like the flu-slug I've turned into, filling my little easter basket with pills and potions.

I'm only here because my kids are hogging the couch. BooOoooOoooooo.

Sound the trumpets!

(Plug your ears if you want, but I'm blogging about this.)

Thank my luckiest stars. I am NOT pregnant. Happilluja! (You know what I'm talking about, prolific friends.)

There is nothing like a good old fashioned pregnancy scare to put the fear of God into you when you have already been blessed with 4 blessed blessings to feed, clean, referee, instill an appreciation of culture in, teach manners to, read to, clothe, chauffeur, be paranoid about, pay & soothe. Sometimes simultaneously... Sometimes with friends over. Bless their hearts.

PMS has never looked like such a wonderful, wonderful, glorious festival of sunshine. I can now resume drinking beer.

PHEW.

17 hours 46 mins 5 seconds & barf.

That's how long until I hop a plane to visit the fam.

Until then, baby Barfzilla is going to try and thwart my plans with her evil stomach bug.  It's the tradition on our family  to start violently barfing just prior to or during a long plane ride. Let's review:

• Hawaii [check].  
  
• Stopped the plane from taking off due to morning sickness barfing on a cross country flight[check]
  
• Disneyland [check]

 

Why not start barfing now?  We are going to be flying across the country.   Plus I really wanted to clean my vehicle.  I have all kinds of time. 

I will win, though.  Well maybe.  When a 10 month old has a stomach bug, nobody really 'wins'. Especially the people we sit next to on the plane.  Poor them.  I'm mentally gearing up to be 'that horrid person with the horrid explosive baby' on the airplane.  Maybe I should bring kittens to distract everyone.   

Poop was in her neck folds today.  NECK FOLDS. 

Now you know.  Lucky you.  Sometimes, it's so fun being me.  

 See that red patch between my eyes?  That is stress... or it might be jam on my webcam.  But probably stress.