Babies and Dogs

Everyone is having babies and I'm not even allowed to get a dog.
My husband "put his foot down"
This marriage thing just got tricky.
tricky. tricky. tricky.

MARRIAGE

A good marriage would be between a blind wife and a deaf husband.

I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this.
I've always heard that a good marriage requires falling in love many, many times always with the same person. And it's true. Every day I find myself falling in love with my husband all over again. Of course, we're still considered "newly weds" so maybe I should touch on this subject in a few more months...

I've learned that marriage is so much more than a piece of paper. It's teamwork. It's being selfless. It's LOVE. It's doing the dishes when you'd rather be playing Sonic. It's support. It's patience. It's honesty. It's knowing that person will NEVER walk out on you. It's being called 'honey.' It's beautiful.... It's tough.

It is so worth it.

Sleep Deprivation and McDonalds

The only thing worse than not being able to sleep is being McBloated.... everything delicious comes with a price.
uhhhhh
Both sleep deprivation and McDonalds do weeeird things to the human body. Wait, no. Let me rephrase that. Both sleep deprivation and McDonalds do weeeird things to MANDY'S body. It's like there's a switch in my brain that goes off as soon as I screw up my sleep patterns. I go for walks at obscure hours of the night and have incredible urges to make pancakes. PANCAKES. wtf is that about? There's gotta be a support group out there for people like me.

I could go for a big mac right about now. With a side of pancakes.

HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A VERY SEXY NEW YEAR!!!!!

love: your messed up blogger, Mandy

Chapter 2- Grade 5

Ahh grade 5. The year my parents ruined my life. The year we moved. I didn't want to move. I was quite content with my small Sesame Street decorated bedroom. But no, this was the year I was forced into a different Jesus institute- I mean school. I didn't want to move. Kids at this new school were real assholes. Reeaaal pricks. I was made fun of for EVERYTHING. It wasn't my fault I was a quirky 10 year old with a snaggle tooth. I wasn't stupid enough to fit in with the 'special' kids and I wasn't smart enough to make friends with any of the nerds. I sure as hell wasn't pretty enough to even look at the popular crowd...they reminded me of that every day by barking at me. The greatest insult of the 90's. I was a loner, an easy target. Thanks to my oh so intelligent parents we ended up moving in the middle of the year. All of the lessons and assignments I had already completed at my old school (which was a huge accomplishment by the way) were just beginning to be taught at my new school by a very questionable student teacher. This meant I got to learn about ancient Egypt all over again! Luckiest. kid. ever. NOT. I was 10 years old when I first contemplated suicide. Ancient Egypt almost killed me. How many people can say that?

The end.

'Going Deep' with your host Mandy....

I was 5 years old. Junior kindergarten. Surrounded by a herd of other ugly, not so bright children new to the catholic school system. The first week is the only week I can remember. Yes, it was that traumatizing. It was the third or fourth day in the Jesus institute when shit started to go down. I was sitting by myself. Minding my own business because at this age I was already well aware that I didn't want to be associated with these people. This blond hair blue eyed boy named Bobby (names have NOT been changed for privacy purposes) climbed up onto one of those miniature chairs. I always wondered why adults made us sit on mini plastic chairs. Did they think they were being clever? Anyway, after a few seconds a crowd gathered. I hurried over to see what the fuss was about. I thought maybe he had a new Cabbage Patch Kid or something. At this point my mind was still pure and my intentions were good. The incident that occurred in the next 2.5 seconds will forever be burned into my brain. Bobby whipped out his penis. His twig and berries. His junk. It was just chilling there. Mine didn't look like that. My little 5 year old mind was horrified yet confused. I prayed to Jesus who I assumed was the one in charge, the principal. "Pleeeeaaaase don't let mine grow to be like that!" I was disgusted. Both with Bobby and Jesus.

A few days later, my "teacher" decided it would be a nice treat to let the 22 rugrats in her care go outside for an early recess. I think this is where the buddy system came into play years later. She lined up all the kids, single file of course and led them out the door.... or at least that's what I imagine she did. I wouldn't know because there were only 21 kids in that line. Did my "teacher" check the washroom before turning off all the lights and locking the door? NOPE. That's right. Crazy bitch locked me in there. In the dark. Bobby should have been in my shoes. He was the one waving his magic stick around, not me. After what felt like an eternity of screaming, I met the real principal. She was a woman and she wasn't Jesus. She heard me crying from the hallway and came to my rescue.

Now we all know why my greatest fears involve penises and being left alone. Thank you, blog thingy for this therapy session.

don't got nobody else to blame but ourselves

Dear blog-thingy,

I'm not dead. I've been neglecting you. Sometimes life gets a wee bit crazy. You lose yourself in the madness and finally one day you realize it's time to find the old you. The fun you. The writer, the lover, the comedian. And I know she's not dead either. She's in there somewhere.