Let’s talk vaginas today. Why not? It’s Tuesday. Didn’t you know that’s TalkVaginaTuesdays? Sorry it’s so late in the day. You better get in as much vagina talk between now and midnight as POSSIBLE.

So in honor of TVT, we’re going to talk about birth. Many many many of you have asked me about Yoshi’s birth. Will I have another C-section? Will I attempt a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean). I can tell you this: From the moment that pee stick turned double time, this has weighed heavily on my mind.

I really didn’t know anything about my situation or my options. For those who are new here, I had planned a natural birth the first time around with midwives and birth centers and singing fairies and ended up with an unwanted cesarean. You can read the birth story here, here and here. And then, you can talk about it with people in honor of TVT.

The one thing I knew right away was that I wanted a doula. Having a doula was the best decision I made since duel room DVR’s. Especially since B took THREE naps during labor. You heard me. A good friend of mine had recently become certified to be a doula and I knew she was the winner of the game. I am very comfortable with her and she’s my favorite hippie. She also cooked food for me for weeks while I couldn’t even look a piece of bread in the face without punching it and puking.

she gives me food in mason jars and wraps bread in cloth: quality hippie.

What I didn’t know was where I was going to have this baby and how. I researched VBAC’s. I read some stuff. I read more stuff. I talked to VBAC patients. I talked to doctors. I found out that the biggest risk with VBAC is uterine rupture. Which is definitely JUST as scary as it sounds. It can rupture from your scar and if the baby doesn’t come out within like minutes, the baby dies and you probably die too. DIE. But then I found out that the chance of this happening is .4%. Double lightening strikes is more likely.

What I also didn’t know was that risks involved in a 2nd and 3rd and future c-sections is WAY higher than anyone tells you. Cutting through scar tissue over and over is dangerous. Being in major surgery in general is dangerous. A friend of a friend had a 2nd C-section and after much complication had to have a hysterectomy. I know it’s not common, but the risks are there and are greater than .4%.

So I was cool with my VBAC decision. It makes sense. Surely finding a midwife or a doctor would be easy. WRONG SONG DONG. See, in the 90′s some science wad said that it was mandatory for the hospital of a VBAC patient to have anesthesia available immediately. This scared the shit out of doctors and they stopped supporting VBAC’s. One thing I know about doctors is that they do whatever it takes to protect themselves. And anything that lessens risk for them they are going to push on you. So no, I could not find a doctor for the life of me. I got very discouraged.

What I could find was a ton of midwives who would deliver Yoshi…AT HOME. Woah. Home birth? I mean I did always want a water birth like I see on a Baby Story. It would be nice to not be in a hospital having every last drug shoved down my throat. But I had to think…at what point am I doing this more for me and less for Yoshi? Now I don’t blame anyone for having a home birth. I think it’s a great option. But with a VBAC there is SOME risk involved. And being the mental patient headcase that I am, I’d be a nervous wreck. So I was determined to find a hospital and a doctor or midwife who would support me.

See? this totally could have been me.

In the entire Philadelphia area (and I’m talking entire area) I found 3 places that I could go to. A midwife who delivers at a hospital (my first choice), a traditional OBGYN practice that delivers at a hospital and a practice of midwives that delivers at UPENN (which is sort of far for us). I’m meeting with the midwife next week and I have all of my fingers crossed.

Now, I’ll say all of this:

1) Please PLEASE do not leave me comments with your horror story VBAC. Please also do not email me. I have already received emails and I understand that you had a bad experience, but I’m trying to stay positive.

2) Although I’m really pushing for a vagina birth, I’m not totally sure I’m going to be able to have a natural birth. Trust, I would love to. But I’ve been through labor before and it’s damn hard. I’m going to take classes and educate the shit out of myself this time so when some nurse says “I’m going to stick this in your vagina now”, I know the risks and benefits for myself.

3) Yes, the most important thing is Yoshi’s health. And if there was any risk or chance that a vaginal birth would hurt Yoshi, I would have another c section. However I really do believe that a vaginal birth is not only healthier for me and the baby, it’s less risk than another c-section.

And with that, I give you TVT. Please really take the time to enjoy the rest of TalkVaginaTuesday. It only comes once a week.

________________________________

And in a totally unrelated note: To advertisers and those who have contacted me about advertising. I will get back to you. I’m still trying to get back into the swing of things after being sick. I’m still not 100% but I promise we’ll get things going again. To current advertisers: I’ve given you like a billion weeks free as a thank you for my lack of being a human lately.

LOVE YOU

MODG

The countdown was 1 week until my Listen to your Mother performance. I was one of 12 writers performing in Philadelphia’s debut show. And I was 1 of 12 writers without a voice and with a face full of puke.

I was panicked.

I’ll take you back to the first rehearsal. The scene is me with my piece. I was the last person to actually choose my piece because I am lazy mostly. But also I was nervous. I just didn’t know if I could read my own writing in front of a room of people. I’ve performed in shows before where some other writer writes some bullshit on paper and I read WHY YES GOOD SIR THAT IS MY VAGINA (I was in the vagina monologues. word.). But reading your own stuff is scary.

Finally, I decided on the one where I almost beat up kids for looking at G wrong at the playground. We’ll get to why this was a stupid idea later.

The first and only rehearsal is everyone in a room reading their piece at a podium. I was pretty much last. I followed about 9 people who told tear jerking stories of alzheimers, abandonment and yes, child abuse. And next up was me, about to tell everyone how I want to push small children down and scare them. You know, to the people who were abused. Jesusgod.

I read my piece. I read it really fast. I barely glance up. My hands shook.

And at the funny parts where I talk about Britney and things like Lululemon moms? Crickets.

I WAS IN TROUBLE.

After that I didn’t look at my piece. I didn’t practice. I didn’t talk to B about it. I pretended like it didn’t exist and that it would float away and I could hide in G’s crib.

Then I got sick. Really sick. So sick that I couldn’t say Hi B, how ar…COUGH COUGH CHOKE. You know that cough that literally makes you gag on your on phlegm as you double over choking on some sort of crawling creature that has made a permanent home in your throat? My chest ached from the coughing. My stomach burned from the ab work. But worst of all, I didn’t have a voice.

I emailed the directors:

So….I can’t talk and I’m sick and oh yeah I don’t think I’m good at this and I don’t like my piece and I’m nervous and I don’t know what to do and I haven’t really done anything and I’m the worst even though I act like the best and I’m sorry and I’m going to cry. Ok bye.

And the directors were like:

Dude, chill. Rest and we’ll help you.

(I was clearly the head case of the cast)

And after a full week of rest and more medicine than is probably ever safe for a 14 week old Yoshi and a bag full of balls, I faced my piece. I rewrote the whole damn thing. Turns out when you read my stuff out loud, it’s wordy and annoying. Maybe it’s like that NOT out loud too and you are all just very nice people. But I realized that we are all a little club  here and the regular world doesn’t get my Britney jokes and never met Single Guy and thinks Lululemon is probably delicious on chicken.

And it was better.

But I still hadn’t read it out loud. B had no idea even what piece I was reading.

And the performance day came. I put on my orange dress and my thong sized pad that I cut with scissors to accurately catch the pee that drips out of me when I cough. I was ready.

My family was there, my hippie mom friends, my best friend from high school, and all of their friends. AND a MODG cheering section in the back. I met one of them but I wish I could have met the rest. The one told me that the others were scared. I told her that no one ever says hi to me and she made my life.

I sat in my assigned front row seat as speaker after speaker did a great job. Almost everyone’s was poignant, heartfelt and a little sad. I totally did not fit in. But I was ready. Sort of.

I went to the bathroom right before the person before me spoke and I’m pretty sure the directors thought I was making a break for it. I thought about it. But as I came back, I sat in the little chair off to the side designated for people to wait in while others are speaking, I thought about why I’m doing this. I wanted to do this. I was dying to do this. When I thought they didn’t pick me I pretended that it was stupid and that I didn’t care. But I totally cared. And then when I got the part I was ecstatic. I took deep breaths. I calmed myself down and I didn’t hear a word that anyone else said. Until…

…they call my name.

I stand up and start walking.

and I hear my cheering section who instantly makes me feel better. I can do this.

I tell everyone there that I am sick and I’ll be doing a sexy reading of my piece. People think this is funny. I was serious. Whatever.

And I begin. And people laugh. People laugh a lot. The more they laugh the better I feel. I get louder. I get more animated (B said I was by far the most animated reader. I looked at him like, are you surprised by this?) and I get more confident. And I feel like, by the end, it was a success. A really big success.

And the difference wasn’t my rewritten piece or the fact that somehow I didn’t cough. But it was the encouragement from the people who know me and like me. Putting yourself out there like that is scary and all anyone wants is a little encouragement. So those of you who were there that night, you don’t know how much your support meant to me. It made all the difference in the world.

Now I know you’re like ok ok ok shut up already, let’s see it!

It’s not online yet. I have no control over this. I didn’t videotape it. Also? I forgot my camera. Please, I could barely remember my bra that day. So B took some really stupid pictures with his phone. Vomit Comet.

But the good news is that there will be amazing professional pictures and there will be a full video online.

But this is just my own story of the night.

One other behind the scenes tidbit? I may have sat next to someone pretty famous. She may have been on her blackberry the entire time. She may have also been reading an US weekly. IN THE FRONT ROW. I was horrified. Please remind me of this when I become rich and famous. I will say no more. You can make your own guesses.

Below are the fantastic works of art that B captured on his camera. I am not even going to try and edit them.

This is the cast

This is me looking bitchy and probably inappropriate

These are my friends with devil eyes. Thank you B’s camera.

This is me speaking. I hope I opened my eyes eventually.

And that folks is the best we’ve got right now.

There will be a part 2 in the future.

For now, this is all.

Love and thanks,

MODG

Dudes. Pregnancy HATES me. Like throat razor hates me.

3 days ago, I was all, SECOND TRIMESTER, TIME TO FEEL BETTER! So I stopped taking my regimented half a unisom and 2 vitamin B6′s every night (for those unaware this is a totally safe and apparently very effective nausea remedy). I was like, please, it’s probably not even doing anything. I need to be natural girl on no meds. I can handle it. Would you believe the next day I puked in 2 different toilets in my house and the grass. Poor G was so confused. He tried to lick the toilet. I guess that’s what it looks like when you’re face is spewing out venom.

I.wanted.to.die.

Oh and that tiny sore throat I had every night for about a week? HOW ABOUT FULL ON F-ING BRONCHITIS. HOW ABOUT IT? Well I’m sort of assuming at this point. It’s a raging chest banging cough that seems to be caused by a leaky nose throat pipe. I don’t really ever have seasonal allergies but man, if this is what they are, I’m moving to Alaska with Sarah P and the gang. I’m choking on my own bile people. Swallow that for a minute. No don’t. That’s sick.

It’s one thing after the next. Oh and by the way. I’m carrying a baby. That little thing.

I swear some guy who sits in some cloud who was in charge of things like apes turning to humans and humans getting thumbs was like, I KNOW I’m going to make 1st trimester pregnant women, so repulsive to the human population (but especially the opposite sex) that everyone will run away from them. This will ensure that man doesn’t waste his precious time and baby seeds on a knocked up ho.

Here’s what I’m talking about people:

1) Your skin. Jesusgodinheaven your skin. It’s beyond acne. It’s like the surface of your skin swallowed gravel and it just spread out. It spread from your forehead to your chest to your back. You look like you sleep with pizza oil on your face and wash it off with melted smores. People look at you and gasp in terror.

2) Your sniffer. If you don’t think people smell, get pregnant. You will smell the poop inside their colon that has yet to make a decent. You will smell someone thinking about a fart. You will smell the onion soup they will eat tomorrow. And you will then place many large pillows between you and anyone else in your bed so the pathway of breathe is blocked securely. NO one is getting through that thing. Smells or hands.

3) Your puker.

Scene:

Man: Hi, I’m a person. Nice to meet you. Wanna grap a taco?

Preg: Taco? (BARFS ON SHOES)

Man: Ok, I’ll see ya later.

4) Boobs. You may think you have big hot boobs. But you know what you have? Saggy, heavy painful bags of milk. Oh you think someone is going to touch them? Try it. Just try it and try not to scream. Exactly. Your one MAYBE sexy preg look causes you excruciating pain. Thanks man in the cloud.

5) TIRED. You are so damn tired all the time. You look like a drugged up stripper with your giant boobs, who had to make it through her all night shift at the club and now you’re hungover and walking around like a used up barf bag. Hot.

6) Oh you’re JUUUST starting to show. How excited and cute? Nope. Not cute. You’re fat. You’re just chubby for like 3 months. Congratulations fatty.

7) Men totally love a woman that cries ALL the time. Right? I mean I’ve met like eleven men who are like, man if I could only meet a girl who is MORE emotional. Especially at Kay Jeweler commercials.

Extra farts and burps. That’s all.

I’m going to draw you a picture of all of this at once so you can see how gross we really are.

Yep, that’s us. Hang your head in shame.

But that damn man in the clouds had a reason for all of this. Now if it were me in that stupid cloud I would have just made men’s penises turn neon green if they came within 5 feet of a pregnant woman and left the rest of us alone. But hey, that’s just called efficiency.

B just left to get me the 2 meds in the world that are safe for my unborn fetus. I’ll check in if I make it through the night. B will be sleeping in the guest room. You know, because of the hacking and farting and puking and burping and crying. I agree, it’s rude.

Dead,

MODG

PS Thank you for all of your facebook messages for puke remedies. I’m now accepting choking on post nasal drip cough remedies that rattle out your brain and lungs….remedies.

**comments are on a delay. They will show up just not right away**

Well here we are. It’s been 10 days. I am back. Blogging is apparently the only profession (and I’m using giant air quotes around that word), where one is not allowed any breaks. I literally got hate mail for taking a break. Dudes. I love you. But chill. I’ve been blogging for 3 years. THREE YEARS. And the only other break I have ever taken was for a short spell when I was preg with G. And the only reason I took that break was because I felt like I couldn’t really blog honestly with a secret.

So here we are again. With a secret. I hate secrets. They are dumb and for diaries and trapper keepers. But some secrets are necessary and this was one of them. Although I’ll be honest, I tried about as hard as Christina Aguillera is trying to not wear slutty clothes on The Voice.

Watch my video and my secret will be revealed.

Well? Are you as shocked as the shocker? No?? That’s ok. This wasn’t for shock value. I’ll give you a little back story about what’s been going on. Dudes. Shit has been real around here. I have been so incredibly sick for 24 hours a day for the ENTIRE duration of this pregnancy. There have been long stretches where I could not get out of bed. I couldn’t eat food. I couldn’t even drink water. Not to mention I have a crazy toddler to take care of. B has been a lifesaver. The docs put me on a med that is like red pill/blue pill shit. Meaning…you can either have your pooper backed up enema style or you can deal with your vomiting. I tried both. Let’s just say it’s a cruel cruel choice to make.

On top of this, we didn’t even get to hear a heartbeat until yesterday. I mean, my 16 year acne skin, boobs from Mars, vomit life and thickity thickness were telling me YOU ARE SO F-ING PREGNANT. But I just needed to know and to see that everything is ok. And it is. Everything is super with our little Yoshi.

And B needed to see too. Because APPARENTLY men don’t officially recognize pregnancies until they see it with their own two eyes. NBD B, I’ll just puke my brains out until you’re comfortable recognizing things.

So are we happy? Yes. Are we excited? Yes. Are we nervous? YES. But to answer your question before you ask like Pete did…no we aren’t just “busy”, we planned things this way. We wanted kids close in age to be buddies and get them out of diapers quickly. We know it’s going to be hard hard work. But we’re ready (so not ready).

I’ll tell you this: this pregnancy is 100% totally different than G’s. With G, I was like DUDES pregnancy is cake. You are all WIMPS. I’ll be a surrogate for 50 Guiliana Rancics. No problem. Now? F THAT. THIS IS MY LAST CHILD. I PROMISE YOU THIS. This pregnancy is so hard. SO HARD.

But BUT maybe that means it’s a girl. Maybe it means it’s the devil. But hopefully just a regular girl.

12 weeks down, 40 million to go.

I’m worried I’m going to get fat. Like not cute preg fat, regular fat.

I’m worried about a lot. And we’re going to talk about it all.

Because….

I’M BACK.

Hello friends and enemies,

I’m here to inform you that I will be on a short leave of absence from the blog. It won’t be too long so don’t freak your shit at me in the comments. I however have some super life things to attend to and I didn’t want you to think that I was 1) dead or 2) diseased. I am neither.

I will leave you now to gossip and speculate. As I would do.

I’ll get you started.

“omg did you hear that modg is dead and diseased? She’s totally a bitch sell out. I heard that she’s totally getting paid by Rubella and Polio to mention them”

Be back soon.

In the mean time, you can enjoy this.

Hi Everyone

I’m sorry I left you on such a low note for so long. I’m doing ok, really. In fact, Babble came back to me with another offer, which I haven’t accepted or rejected yet.

But the real reason I’m giving you a bit of weekend MODG time (which is normally spent far away from people and babies and places staring at the tv rocking back and forth) is because I want you to buy your tickets to Listen to your Mother. Which, if you don’t know by now, and you better know, I’m performing in this year.

You can now buy your tickets here

Again, the details of the event are as follows

Friday, May 11, 2012 at 7:00 PM

William Way Center
1315 Spruce Stree, Philadelphia

Here is this years cast:

Jennifer Weiner
Andi Buchanan
Liz Henry
Angela Canales
Molly Connors
Charlie O’Hay
Brandi Jeter
Sandra Tellep
Amanda Domergue (MODG)
Kathy Snead
Shoshana Martyniak
Cecily Kellogg
Helen Reese
Dresden Shumaker
Jo-Ann Rogan

Yes I’m the only asshole with a ( ) name. But I really didn’t think you’d all know me otherwise. And yes there’s my last name. Go crazy. Do your weird stuff with it if you must. The secret is out.

Please come see me in the show. Please also bring posters that say things about Danny Tanner. Please also give me gifts  including but not limited to cereal marshmallows and Lisa Frank paraphernalia. I will meet and high five every one of you who shows up.

I’m sort of nervous. And I’m the only one who still hasn’t picked a piece to read. I’m making this face about it

All that Draw Something playing has made my MS Paint skills weak. Apologies.

I hope to see lots and lots of you there. And dress cute. Represent.

BUY TICKETS NOW PLEASE HERE AND THANK YOU.

This is a hard post for me to write.

So inevitably on almost every episode of Sex and the City, Carey would be on top of the world. She would get her new Jimmy Choo’s, strut around in them with Big on her arm and life couldn’t be better. And you knew, you KNEW that something was going to happen. And wouldn’t you know it, her shoes would be stolen and Big would pee on her carpet…or something. Because people who say out loud, “I HAVE IT ALL”, are bound to be peed on and brought back down to earth.

So after I declared to all of you, and my facebook friends, and my family, and my ex boyfriends, and that bitchy girl in high school, and Britney Spears via Twitter that I, MODG, have it all. I have the dream job, I have the baby, I’ll be giving him the “gift” of daycare and I’m the best and nah nah nah in your face…just like that I lost it.

Well, to be clear, I guess I never really had it.

Let’s just say that negotiations with Babble didn’t quite work out. There was a huge miscommunication. (i.e. they miscommunicated and I heard what I wanted to hear) Then I was like, wait… I better check up on it like Beyonce and my suspicions were correct. I was just a fool to believe…she’s like the wind. Whatever. The point is that I would not be able to put G in part time daycare financially speaking with the position, and therefor just wouldn’t have the time to commit to Babble while still keeping a presence here with MODG. And I won’t let MODG suffer.

So here I am. I thought about just not telling everyone and letting May come and go and hope you all would forget about it. And one by one your comments kept coming in. At every one I cringed…”Way to follow your dream!”, “You’re doing a great thing for G!”, “I’m so proud of you”. And I died. I knew I had to put my (nonexistent -thankgod-) tail between my legs and fess up.

So what can we take from all of this. I’ve been moping a lot and thinking a lot and when I try and think of big picture stuff, I usually think of celebrities and mostly Oprah. She told me that success almost never follows a path that looks like this:

Instead, it almost always looks like this

(can I just recommend to everyone to never google image search “gay guy” or “straight guy”? I promise it’s good advice).

So I won’t be George Clooney, but maybe if I’m lucky I’ll be Andy Cohen and that to me would be the shining beacon North Star of success.

B asked me the other day what I wanted 3 years ago when I started MODG. And I honestly answered, nothing really. I wanted a place where maybe one day I could make a little bit of money so I could stay home with my kids. And he said, you’re doing that now. You’ve succeeded.

(MODG: setting low goals.)

But now I know that there’s probably more. I mean once you reach your extremely low goals, you should probably set new ones right?

So here we are. It’s just me and you again. And I’m OK with that. No, my financial dreams aren’t coming true tomorrow, but I’ve made it this far talking about vaginas. Might as well keep at it.

Thanks to all of you for always supporting me. Especially those of you who have been reading since MODG was pink and orange. And especially to those of you who email me to tell me that you took weeks to read everything I’ve ever written IN A ROW (I’m sorry).

You guys keep me going.

And I promise, when I’m the next Chelsea Oprah Spears, I’ll take you all with me.

xoxo

MODG

When I was pregnant with G and we were frantically trying to figure out our budget for our family and a new baby and a J.Crew habit, the discussion of the D word came up.

Dickwad.

No not that D word. That would be absurd.

Daycare. (duh duh duuuuh …scary music).

2 years ago, at the mere mention of the word, I started crying. See, despite my outward bitchiness, my level of empathy for babies, animals and kids who get bullied, is like off the charts. Last weekend I ran upstairs in tears when my family decided to watch Planet of the Apes. THEY WERE GOING TO KILL A BABY APE.

Anyway, so the thought of leaving my baby in the hands of perfectly capable strangers was unthinkable. What if my baby thinks that I abandoned him? What if they leave him in a crib all day? What if they dress him up like Hello Kitty and post it to YouTube? So we made it work and I stayed home with G for 16 months.

And here we are 16 months later. And G is running and climbing and playing and hugging and kicking and dancing and ready for some social time. And just as that thought entered my brain, an amazing opportunity came my way.

Starting in May, I will be a contributing writer at Babble.com. I’ll be writing for them 3 times a week and I’m really very excited about it. Because I’ll be getting a real salary. Like real sort of money. And trust me, we need it. We need it badly enough that I’m calling every day care on the block asking about part time availability for G and how quickly I can cart his cloth diapered butt over there.

And I don’t have one ounce of hesitation about it.

See, there came a point in our relationship (me and G) where mom just wasn’t as fun anymore. The sensory box was kind of where things ended. G needs way more stimulation that I can provide him on a daily basis and I’m happy to leave that to the professionals. He wants crap like creative water play and building shit and running around in masks. I just don’t have it in me.  And while G is doing his thing with smart kid people, I will actually have time to “work”.

And then I realized this: It’s happened. It’s really happened. I’m going to work and doing what I love. That’s the dream. That’s what Oprah always told me. Do what you love and it’s not work. Do what you love and you’ll be good at it. And that’s why I’m so excited to be working for the people at Babble and to working for myself on MODG (don’t worry I won’t forget about our little place here on the internet. We’re still  boys) and getting to do things like Listen to your Mother. This signifies me growing up and growing into something that is really me. Because me wasn’t a recruiter and me wasn’t in an office from 9-5 and me was happier than that.

And that’s why I’m more than OK with daycare now. Because I can proudly be a mom who is teaching G by example to do what you love for a lot or a little money. It makes all the difference in who you are. And who I am is…a writer?? Yeah, I still can’t really say that without giggling a little under my breath.

But B likes to say, who I am is working for Disney. BARF. Babble was just bought by Disney. Let’s just say I’m Pooh and Mickey’s #1 street enemy. So yes, B runs around singing M-I-C SEE YOU REAL SOON. And I say, I’ll see your ass handed to your face. Or something like that.

I’m looking forward to this next part of my life. I think I’m going to learn a lot more about being a mom and who I am as a non mom too. And I probably won’t worry so much about Hello Kitty porn. Will I put future baby #2 in daycare? Probably not for a while. I understand why people have to do it and they have all of my respect in the world, but I will move a mountain of rabid squirrels before I give that first year of my newborn’s life to someone else. I’m lucky because I have that choice.

And I’m lucky because I’m making a little dream happen.

And I’m lucky that you’re still reading this because the cheese level is at about a 9 right now.

XOXO

Happy Day MODG.

So either Katelin peaced or you all killed her for a shot at the bracelet. Either way, here is our new winner

singalongforboozers
I like the silver-plated karma necklace because karma will be a bigger bitch than I will ever need to be
Relevant comment: church babysitters – YES! Hide your laptop though, internet chat rooms are tempting for these hells angels

singalongforboozers….you have 24 hours or this message explodes.

Help the girl out if you know her. I’m not tracking her down. I’m all busy like.

word

MODG

And the winner of the Adorn 512 bracelet is….

katelin
i babysat kids when i was thirteen and i just don’t understand how people thought i was mature enough to watch their kids. then again all i did was play with them. and make the easiest dinners ever because i was THIRTEEN after all, haha.
oh and i love that store, somehow i’d never heard of it before. but i adore the turquoise and gold bracelets, so pretty!

Katelin won by random drawing. Although I did disqualify those of you who just left comments saying what jewelry you wanted. NOT in the rules. And I’m in a mood. So we’ll be following rules today.

Katelin you have 24 hours to contact me at modgblog at gmail dot com

And if she doesn’t, we’ll pick another winner. But don’t kill her or anything. That’s too much for a bracelet.

Also, update on the babysitter:

She was great and get this….SHE JUST DID HER HOMEWORK. I know….

But then. THEN. Someone who will remain nameless who referred the babysitter to me sent my last post TO HER MOTHER. Yes I could kill her. So it’s debatable if we’ll be using the babysitter again. Call me crazy, but I don’t know if I want our teenage babysitter knowing the intimate details of my hemorrhoids and old lady vagina.

That’s all for now internet.

Off to kick this Monday in the groin.

xoxo

MODG