You guys, I don’t even know anymore. Franny had midwinter break and she spent part of it at SeaFed’s house with the new babbeh (another girl, same pumpkin head as the first one and her mother’s, apparently his babbeh gun only makes girls) and the old babbeh, who has turned into a three-and-a-half year old box of frothing howler monkeys or something. Strudel was satanic in a THOU SHALL NOT BREAKETH ME way, but this other sibling of Franny’s sounds rather mollycoddled and do not poke the bear, for it will throw a tanty and scream for sugar. Hard to say from over here, but Franny tells amusing stories anyhow.
The latest is that Franny and her BFF were at her father’s house and were desperately trying to get away from her preschool-aged sister, which caused adult-rousing shrieking. SeaFed allegedly let off an exasperated “What the HELL, girls,” which, frankly, sounds like the SeaFed I know and don’t love. Back in his day he was the king of the f-bomb.
Now SeaFed is not allowed to swear. NOT ALLOWED. He is a grown-assed man of 35 years of age and he has had his swearing rights revoked. I suspect this document resides in his wife’s purse next to his Scrabble bag. Oh yes I did.
Franny’s BFF ratted him out to her father, who presently came over and had words with SeaFed about how his outburst was Not Okay. It is like Full House over there, but no one learns anything and who is playing the part of Methface Tanner? NOT MY KID, TELL YOU WHAT.
Franny is not allowed to say “poop” or “butt,” not to mention the hard swears. When she comes back here she sounds like a parrot in a whorehouse frequented by syphilitic pirates for about 72 hours. My blog is named after a swear, I am 32 years old, I have seen some rough stuff, and she makes ME cringe. I ignore it and it passes.
Furthermore look at this egg, isn’t it WEIRD?
I think she was just egggstopated. The chicken, not Franny ;)
Oddly enough, my boy doesn’t swear much. Only when playing vids, really. Pretty good for 15.
It IS weird.
Oooh, let us know if that egg has a double-yolk. I’m curiousy.
Egg is odd, but that Damson Tart is beautiful. Very rustic and looks perfectly done.
The no-swearing reminds me of my own childhood – Mom would get very irritated if Dad cursed around us, so he had to train himself to not curse even if he was in pain after accidentally hitting his head or hammering his finger. He wasn’t someone who cursed very much to begin with, but painful moments were an exception.
The egg looks like the “new, more aerodynamically efficient model”. The reason why an egg would need to be more aerodynamically efficient eludes me, though.
Maybe she had that vaginoplasty surgery to rejuvenate her lady parts.
Cloacaplasty? Well, THAT’S going to keep me up tonight.
This may be old news to you, but you were namechecked in the new issue of Bitch! I was excited.
Oh my damnness. I had no idea. Thanks Kelly.
The “you have delighted us long enough” warmed the cockles of my Austenfan heart.
Only 32. You are such a wee thing.
Eep. I can’t stop swearing. I’m terrible at self-censorship. I’m getting better slowly. Still, my kid does not swear regularly. She will say a naughty word under her breath once in a while as defiance. But very rarely. Swearing’s wrong and I do it and she knows it’s wrong when I do it. Which I guess is bad to let her see her mommy is a hypocrite. But she enjoys catching me at it.
I had forgotten all about you (sorry!) until I saw the name-check at Bitch. I used to lurk here all the time. Oh! I said when I saw the namecheck. That’s that blog. I luuuv that blog.
Re the swearing. My kid’s bff is a fundie kid (we live in NW Arkansas) and when I cuss as I do all the time I flinch and cut my eyes toward her. Don’t worry, she always tells me kindly, my dad says worse.
Hello, welcome back.
I curse a fair bit (maybe not as much as a syphilitic pirate, Harrrr) and I curse in front of the boy without particular filters. It helps to be in a country where I’m not cursing in the native language but I think this is how it would be anywhere. I’ve told him he’ll be allowed to curse when he earns it, which I assume will be when he can pay his own way: it’s a grown-up thing, I’ve said, like martinis. Last year we went through a thing where he was telling me that my cursing was reflective of a lack of creativity in my language usage. Now he just winces. Sometimes he beeps himself (“What the beeping beep are you doing?”).