Perhaps as a by-product of the hyper politically correct society we've created, the word fat has become the new "F" word. You can no longer elude to fatness in public without running the risk of being called a "Fat Shamer"—even if you're referring to yourself! I called myself "Skinny Fat" online and it ruffled some feathers.
Nowhere is the expression “the days are long, but the years are short” more fitting than when we’re talking motherhood. When I was home on mat leave with my first child, by 5pm you'd often find me with my forehead pressed against the front window, mentally willing my husband’s car to pull into the driveway. Those early days felt painfully long. But twelve years later, I long for those days, painfully.
My mother has been calling me the B-word lately. Sometimes behind my back. Sometimes to my face. But it's okay. I know it's only because she misses me.
Besides, she is absolutely right. I am the B-word. I am Busy.
I fully admit that I like to be liked. If you don't like me, I'll jump through flaming hoops to change your opinion.
"Issues."
But this post isn't about me and my problems. It's about you and your problems. Kidding. You don't have problems. You're perfect just the way you are. See? There I go trying to make you like me.
My daughter was born to party. This playful little kid of mine is incredibly social. The crazy thing is, when she was diagnosed with a rare genetic disorder as an infant, doctors told us that in addition to the possibility that she might not walk or talk, she would almost certainly fall somewhere on the autism spectrum. I found it impossible to believe that my smiley baby would one day recede into herself, possibly preferring solitude over the company of others.
I was pretty shy growing up so it took years and plenty of practice before I felt comfortable-ish engaging in small talk. I'm horrible with names, easily distracted, and my brain-to-mouth filter is unreliable. These factors, plus my fear of awkward pauses (I over-compensate by spouting ridiculous random facts) can take small talk from "mildly awkward" to "stick an olive fork in me, I'm done" in seconds.
The original "Fun With Auto-Correct" game (totally made up and ridiculous) takes advantage of Auto-Correct’s persistent need to decide on your behalf what twisted word you were mayyyyyyybe thinking of typing.
Party Mummy, should by name, embrace any opportunity to celebrate, right? Totes. But Valentine's Day is where I draw the line because... Valentine's Day is F❤️CKING stupid. There, I said it.
Here's what irks me about V Day (That's Valentine's Day, not Veteran's Day. Veterans are cool.):
I’m not a beauty blogger (if you could see what I’m wearing right now you’d laugh your printed leggings off). So why is Party Mummy writing about hair? Good hair can pretty much guarantee a good time. Bad hair and you’ll skulk around your next party looking for a lampshade to pop on your head.
So I'm here to share a pretty cool hair trick. Some might suggest I’m only trying to curl your hair with such a controversial topic.
I'm not a fashion blogger, but I know funny. And this fashion show - or at least the reaction it's getting - is hilarious. So.Many.Penis.Puns.Head.May.Explode.
Though not everyone agrees. If fact, there are a lot of people who have their knickers in a knot of over it.
When I was a kid, my friend's cat had obviously eaten Christmas tree tinsel (he had a long sparkly strand hanging out of his butt). When I went to pull it out my friend's older brother shouted, "Stop! You'll pull out his intestines!!" Later that winter when my mom made a money cake for my birthday, all I could think of when I was tugging on a ribbon in search of a coin, was yanking out a pile of cake covered cat intestines.
Since Ross Hammond (@RossGraphitas) tweeted the simple instructions to a silly Santa Hat Drinking Game, his post has been retweeted and favourited over 20,000 times and counting. The Huffington Post UK even ran a story on it.
People like to drink over the holidays. Probably a result of stress, family in close quarters, the bitter cold, shopping. Whoever sang, "It's the most wonderful time of the year!" was obviously drunk.
The first time my eleven-year-old son stepped into a comic book store, he was all BAM! He was hooked. He collects classic comics, writes his own comics strips, and has seen every super hero movie ever made. In short, KAPOW! He's crazy for all things super hero.
Every year I vow not to let the holidays get under my skin. Like a sliver, stress festers until you either get it out or... snap and write a ridiculous post like this to blow off steam. Though who has time for actual words this time of year? Not this Christmas crazed girl. Hence this (almost) wordless post.
Here is a highly (not at all.. totally made up) scientific experiment for you. The results will reveal if you are coping well with holiday stress.
I'm all for being polite and kind. I mean, I'm not a monster. But there are days when I want to be silly and, dare I say, inappropriate? What's wrong with that? There's a new sheriff in town and her name is Buzz Kill. I flat out refuse to invite her to any of my parties. Shoot, I have to invite her don't I? God forbid we should leave anyone out and hopelessly and irreparably offend them.
We may be grown-ups with serious responsibilities, but life doesn't always have to be serious. IT SHOULDN'T BE.
There's so much sadness and worry around us—some days my twitter feed makes me want to hurl my laptop out the window. I suppose I could just shut it off. Whatever. I tend to air on side of the dramatic. The point is, sometimes a laugh with friends is all we need to clear our heads and remind us not to take life too seriously.
This Post Is Also NSFW But These Penis Cartoons a Husband Drew His Wife Are Hilarious
