The nasty stone came out on its own. It just popped out. And I crunched on it like that one time a filling came out. And ever since, spit shoots out of my mouth at random times, especially when I am chewing gum. I try to keep my mouth closed, but sometimes, you know, I'm not even aware of it. It goes like this:
Seriously, dude. Only I can't make it happen on purpose. It just comes out. I keep having to clean off my laptop screen. Okay, wait. I take that back. I CAN make it happen on purpose, but only with my mouth closed, because I have to create suction and press the tip of my tongue into the floor of my mouth, but I can't create the same suction with my mouth open. So, yeah. I really wish I could do it like that guy. I would probably be the coolest kid in school if I could do that, right?!
So anyway. Stone is gone. My mouth don't hurt no mo. That makes me happy. Because that shit was all swolled up and hurt like a bitch.
Sarge came home from work this afternoon and brutally teased me about my singing ability. Apparently, when he left for work this morning, I was doing my hamstring kicks while singing the song "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac.
He said it was bad. So bad it reminded him of those poor, hungry children commercials where you can save the world for 25 cents a day. He said he would have sent me 25 cents if he could have saved me. No, actually, what he said was that while he was watching me, he thought "It's a damn good thing she's hot."
Apparently, I can't sing.
Here's some more shit you might not know about me.
I like to burp really loudly and then blame it on the neighbor kid, who may as well be partially mine anyway.
I had 2 Avril Lavigne songs on my ipod once, which I subsequently deleted because it was totally fucking uncool. No, really. That is exactly why I deleted them.
When Sarge gets in the bed at night, he wiggles around under the sheets and squeals, "I loooove that you make the bed every day!!!!" It's all cute and junk.
When morally questionable programming comes on TV, instead of changing the channel we just say, "Hey, this isn't a bad influence on you, is it? Okay, good. Cause I ain't changin' it." But now that my boys have developed a particular penchant for watching every back episode of the show Weeds ever made, and Andrew is now officially a bigger underground indie horror fan than I am, I think it's pretty much a lost cause anyway.
It's pretty sad when you have to go to your 15-year-old son so you can scratch your psycho-sick-shit itch.
And it's pretty sad when, after explaining what the Macdonald Triad is to your kids, they subsequently scan every childhood memory they have in order to prove that they, indeed, are sociopaths. And they think it's AWESOME.
But then Andrew has to go and ruin it by saying, "Hey Mom, I folded the towels in the dryer for you and put a load in the washer." And I'm all like, sociopaths don't do the laundry!!! They hide bodies in the laundry!!!
And I thought my kids were finally gonna be cool.
Okay, I really have to work now.
So go away!