I Think You May Have Come to the Wrong Blog

Here’s a question. What the hell is wrong with you people? No, not YOU people, my normal, non-urine-obsessed readers. I’m talking to all the freaks who keep landing on my blog after searching for pictures of little girls peeing. 

You all may not realize this, but people who run websites can actually see how you ended up on their site. Unfortunately, I can’t see your IP address. If I could, the FBI would already be at your door. But seriously, what is WRONG with you?

For those of you who are not creepy pervs, let me explain what happened. I have a WordPress hosted site, which means that WordPress keeps track of all of my blogging stats, including how many page views I get, how many unique visitors, and the way that visitors found my site.

This Sports Bra Is Proof that Manufacturers Don’t Get Boobs

What is it about boobs that gets clothing manufacturers and designers all flustered? As any woman with breasts larger than a B cup can tell you, all women’s clothing appears to be designed for small-breasted women. When I shop for clothes, I can’t just pick out anything that looks cute. Buttons in the front? Can’t wear it, unless I want to show off my bra through the buttonholes. Backless? Nope. Strapless? Sure, if I want to demonstrate my circus-like ability to touch my belly button with my nipple. 

7 Children’s TV Characters Who Will Probably Grow Up to Be Degenerates

Hopefully, all of your children can name at least 1 character from a book, movie, or television show whom they absolutely adore. These are your Nemos, your Boo Boos, your Harry Potters. All of the 101 Dalmatians.

You can’t help but root for these guys. They’re so earnest and good natured. Your kids love them. You love them. Everyone’s happy.

The characters in this list, however, are none of those things.

Grocery Shopping with Kids: A Tale of Two Ladies

The other day, I took my 2 boys grocery shopping at Aldi. The second we got in the car, R announced, “I don’t want to go to Aldi!”

“Sorry, Bud,” I said. “We have to.”

“Nooooo!” he wailed from the back seat. I simply drove.

When we arrived at Aldi, I grabbed my purse and my shopping bags, pulled the baby from his car seat, and stood by the open van door waiting on R. “Come on, Buddy. Let’s go.”

“I’m not going!”

“You have to,” I said.

“No I don’t!”

“Fine. Come on in when you’re ready.” A power struggle with a 5-year-old isn’t really my thing, so I walked off toward the store. And just like I knew he would, R followed me. (At a distance. He had to save face, obvs.)