Daily Abner

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I think this picture needs a modesty patch.

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Klean n' Shine

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Anyone who has met me knows that little things like smashed pillows on the sofa, crumbs on the counter, water spots on the faucet fixtures, crooked picture frames and dust bunnies don’t bother me at all. So what I am about to tell you may shock you. I few days ago ran out of crack, I mean Klean n’ Shine, a cleaning product from the 70’s that is so toxic it foams at the mouth but I can not stop using it because it cleans EVERYTHING and doesn’t streak and F you planet, I do a lot for you already, I LOVE KLEAN N’ SHINE. Anyway, I felt the can getting low and made a note to pick up a new can or 10 at the only remaining retailer brave enough to carry this cleaner, Star Market. I grab my cloth bags, see, I told you planet, and head for the market. I make my way directly to the cleaning aisle and scan the usual area only to find that there is no Klean n’ Shine. I try to remain calm but when I see that there isn’t even an empty spot where it is supposed to be, or a tag marking its old spot
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To Make Things Clear

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Everyone knows someone who is "that" guy or "that" girl.  You know the one, he or she is always saying the wrong thing or their sense of humor, or lack there of, is constantly being misinterpreted.  You either know someone like this or YOU ARE this person.  Either way, sometimes other peoples words don't come out quite right or you don't read/hear them as they were intended. I fear that I have become "that" girl with the sarcasm and humor in which I write about my son.  Only a small handful of actual people have brought it to my attention, but it was enough for me to take their words into consideration and re-read some of my postings about Caches and the challenges we face.  And you know what?  They are right.  Some of the things I write are a little bit inappropriate, not quite politically correct, and certainly not how some people would speak of their child, but this is how I cope. My writing and a VERY select group of people in my life whom
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You're kidding, right

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So, the other day I went to the Doctor for a physical. Sounds pretty boring right? Like why the hell do you care? Well, I haven't been to the doctor for a physical in 10+ years. Now before you get all OH MY GOD YOU ARE GOING TO DIE on me, let me explain. I have a gynecologist that I see annually and quite frankly, I see no other reason to go to the doctor. Unless of course I'm dying, which I am not, or at least I don't think I am. Anyway, there I sat, waiting for the doctor...waiting, still waiting, STILL WAITING, WHERE THE FUCK IS THE DOCTOR. Oh, hello. Here, take my blood pressure. 140 over 96. Are you kidding me? Sorry, I'm just nervous, my blood pressure is usually really low. I then began to nervously ramble, telling the doctor my entire life story and ending with the fact that I don't like doctors; sorry doc, but I don't. She proceeded to ask me a variety of questions including a few RANDOM ones like if I wore my seat belt. Yes, I do, in fact
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