Category Archives: Farts

These are My God Songs

My daughter is always singing. Sometimes she sings Weezer, or Hannah Montana. Sometime she sings Raffi or Yo Gabba Gabba. A lot of times she sings songs that she makes up, usually about her friends and how she “doesn’t even care what you think, cause we’re just gonna play all day.”
For the past few days, she’s been singing songs about God. And it’s breaking my heart a little that she doesn’t know “real” songs about God and Jesus because we don’t go to church. But that’s a post for another day. Yesterday she sang a song that went a little something like this,”I love God and I love Jesus. I love Heaven and Jesus and God and God and Jesus and Heaven.”
All. Day. Long.
Last night, she asked if I thought God would like that song.
“Of course he does.”
“Will you record me singing it?”
“Sure I will!”
“And can you upload it and send it to God?”
Ha Ha. Children of “Digital Moms!”
As I was dressing her this morning, she continued with her God songfest. And this is the song she just sang. And I am still laughing.
“I love God with my heart.
I love him with my art.
I love him with my dart.
I love him with my POP tart.
And I love him with my fart.
I can’t lie. I was totally proud of her rhyming skills, but I also felt like I needed to explain to her that she should never include the word “fart” in a song about The Almighty. Because, although I’m sure God has a sense of humor, Pastor Grandpa? Not so much about those kind of things.

Let’s play a game of “Which is Worse?”

Ripping a 7 second odorless fart that sounded like a machine gun with a car backfiring at the very end or unleashing a series completely silent burps that smelled like chicken nuggets that had been marinated in apple cider?
I suppose I should ask the two women who had the pleasure of standing on either side of me while at the elliptical machine at the gym.

As if it’s never happened to you.

It should be socially acceptable to rip farts whilst doing any weight machine that involves the squeezing of ones thighs/ass muscles.
Because, seriously, how is one supposed to concentrate on controlling THAT much weight AND holding in gas at the same time?
Whose idea was it to let Aaron freaking Neville sing The National Anthem?
Forget the fact that the man scares the living crap out of me, his voice? Is horrifying.
Oh my God. That was awful. Hold me.
Go Steelers!

Today’s title is a “sound effect” and it goes a little something like this “pffffffthfrmptfffffrrrrrtta”

I once had a friend who SWORE that she had never farted in front of her husband.
They had been married for 14 years at the time she told me that.
I told her that I thought she was lying. I mean, it’s a FART, for cryin’ out loud. It’s a natural bodily function. How in the HELL does on supress farts for 14 years STRAIGHT and not let one accidentally slip out?
She stuck to her story that her husband has never, EVER heard her rip one.
Whatever. I couldn’t even deal with a marriage where a “fart” is a big deal. I mean, last night? And this is a true story, people, TRUE STORY. Last night, Tony wanted to have Sessual Relations with me, and I was like “fine, but my stomach hurts and I’m pretty sure it’s gas”.
Do you think that stopped him? Of course it didn’t! And half way through The Deed, I could feel one coming on. Did I panic? No! I did not! Because, I can fart during sex and IT’S NOT A BIG DEAL. We laugh about it and then we “move on”.
I’ll admit, I think it’s DISGUSTING when my parents fart in front of each other. It was especially gross when we were all little because they acted like it was SO CUTE when one of them farted.
My mom would rip one and my dad would smile, SMILE! And say all flirty like “who farted? Did mommy fart?” and my mom would giggle like a little girl and I would throw up inside.
But, it’s not gross when me and Tony do it because we’re not all “Awww, how cute, you farted, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH” about it. We’re more like “Sick, you pig, that smelled like my grandpa’s fart, nasty” about it. Or sometimes, maybe we’re like “Good one, just like a machine gun!”
Some people (and by some people, I mean “my BOYS”) think I’ve taken this whole “farting is natural thing” too far because I’ve trained my daughter to “fart on command.” It seriously is the most awesome baby girl trick ever and I made sure to show it off at Thanksgiving. “Farted Gabby!” I said as the family watched. And my beautiful, precious, petite little girl stuck her butt out, pushed and grunted until her face turned red and tried to push one out. My boys were furious. “Mom! That’s not a good thing to teach a little girl! What happens when she goes to school and she thinks it’s funny to fart in class?” (Yeah, the same boys who make up jokes about hairy balls and sharting.) I suppose they have a point, but, again, it’s a fart, lighten up people!
I understand that some people are shy about bodily functions in front of strangers, or “the general public”, it’s not like I am a pig who will just fart anytime anywhere, I have manners, dammit! But I’m talking about being “free” in your own home. I mean, I can understand how a person would feel uncomfortable taking a leak while the door is open, (even though, I am not one of those people) and I supposed I can understand feeling slightly embarassed to fart in front of the man you have sex with. WHEN YOU FIRST MEET. But 15 years later? SERIOUSLY? (And? I suppose I can understand how some people might be SLIGHTLY MORTIFIED that I am writing an entire post about “farts.”)
And it doesn’t bother Tony either because I asked him, straight up last night. I said “Babe, does it bother you that I’m not very ‘feminine’ and that I fart freely in front of you?” and you know what he said?
“Not at all babe, it’s natural, I love you just how you are.”
And that’s how it should be, because I’ll be damned if I ever had to “hold one in” for a man.

“It’s time to cut the cord so you can clean the toilet, already” Cheese.

I’ve been feeling frustated at my inability to get things done around the house. It’s hard to complete a task with a one year old baby girl who loves to spend time with her mama. I find myself spending all of my time with my daughter, playing with her, reading to her, singing with her, taking her outside, going for walks, dancing with her, fixing her hair, teaching her colors, cuddling her, teaching her ABC’s, teaching her body parts, (which, by the way, it’s no longer “vagina” but “pachina” because, well, PACHINA IS SO CUTE. Double standard because I was all “No cute names for Penis!” But pachina is like the cutest name for a twat EVER and so, pachina it is.)
The only time I feel like I have to clean and get things done is while she’s napping. But, I use that time to catch up on my email (which, by the way, I’m VERY BEHIND ON, so forgiveth me if I’ve not yet responded, ok? ok!), pay my bills, catch up on my reality TV, make phone calls, write, and after I’m done with that, THEN, if she’s still sleeping, I’ll do laundry, or clean the piss off of the toilet seat.
I feel frustrated. I want the house to be clean and in order, I want to be caught up on the laundry, I want this place (notice, I didn’t call it “my home” because IT’S NOT MINE) to be a comfortable, functional environment where we can all feel at peace. Instead, it’s an unorganized, chaotic MESS.
But damn, if it doesn’t smell WONDERFUL. Because? I am obsessed with Products That Make Your House Smell Good. Glade plug in fans, Oust fans, Wisps , Glade candles, LORD, my cup overfloweth with Air Freshing Products. I have one or two in EVERY ROOM and an entire cabinet filled with new ones, ready to be plugged in or lit up.
I decided that I needed to find someone, whom I trust deeply, to watch G-Unit for half a day, one day a week. Because, IT’S ALL HER FAULT. The Charm. It be interferring with my ability to Get Shit Done. At least, that’s what I’ve decided to tell people, because it feels great to blame A BABY, rather than take responsibility for the fact that I SUCK AT HOUSEKEEPING.
I was so excited about having a little time to myself to get things done around the house… Until the time came to actually take her. I couldn’t do it.
The thought of being in the house without my daughter killed me and I wimped out. “I don’t NEED time away from her, what I need is to learn how to manage my time in a more efficient way! THE GIRL STAYS!”
I’ve only left Gabby with my mom 3 times since she’s been born. I’ve left her with my sister once. And I’ve left her with Tony a couple times when I’ve gone out to do Fun Things With Friends. I’ve missed her like CRAZY those few times I’ve left her and couldn’t wait to come back home to see her, kiss her and squeeze her uncontrollably. HOWEVER, that’s so much different then her not being here in the house with me. The thought of that makes me want to cry. It would freak me out if she were gone while I was here.
She’s my lil’ buddy. My little partner in crime (a.k.a my partner in farts). She’s my sunshine, my precious, my Special Sauce, my Gabby Goo, my G-unit, my lil brat, my everything.
Maybe the fact that I can’t bring myself to drop here off for a few hours is because I know she’s the very last baby I’ll ever have, and I know how how quickly she’ll grow up.
Or maybe it’s that I’ve become completely attached to that girl. And the thought of being in this house kills me.
Of course, there’s always the very small possibility that a very small, tiny weeny part of me does not want to get rid of “The Greatest Excuse EVER” as to why I did not clean the house. Again.
But most likely? It’s because that little girl owns me.

I was tempted to light a match.

A re-enactment of the game of Uno me and the boys just finished playing.
“I’m first.”
“Ok” *pffffffft*
“Your turn.”
“OK!” *brrrrrrftpffft*
“Who’s next?”
*pffft thhrrrrrrumm pffffft*
“Good one, mom.”
“dang! I don’t have any more reds. I have to draw!” *pffft putt putt brrrrrth putt putt*
“Whoa. Can we stop the game. I have to take a dump or else I’m gonna poo myself.”
Farting Uno. It was beautiful.

Power of The Poots.

I was this close to not going to The 30 minute Workout For Wimmins tonight.
Thiiiiis close I tell you.
Because, internet? I have to be completely honest with you.
I had Serious Gas.
I wasn’t sure how my friend would take it if I called and said “Dude, I know it’s only the second day, but HOMEY, I can NOT stop farting. And these aren’t your ‘average’ farts either, these are the kind that have the potential to cause nosebleeds and I don’t want to make the wimmins bleed.”
I decided to suck it up, or in this case, squeeze REALLY HARD and just go.
I wasn’t going to let the possiblity of being SEVERELY HUMILIATED stop me.
I totally ripped a few, once in front of the GINORMOUS FAN and I’ll admit it, I got nervous for the lady across the room from me.
(That’s right, Trish, I farted on the equipment you sat on!)
I got through the workout without having to fess up to ripping ’em and without making anyone’s nose bleed.
I also got through the workout with very little booblash. I bought a new sports bra at target and I doubled it up with my old one. The result? Superb boob holdage. Jumping up and down is now really great fun!
I was so pumped up after the workout. On the way home, I ACTUALLY had this conversation in my head…”If I can workout whilst trying to clench the cheeks together to keep the gas in and save people from bleeding, NOTHING CAN STOP ME!!”
I’ll take inspiration any way I can get it,people.

Mine is cuter than yours AND she rips bigger farts

Honestly? I have no idea why I have to mention the fact that my daughter “knows how to rip’em” everytime I post one of her pictures.

The fact that all I ever brag about is her farting ability is sad because the girl is SMART. Like today? I asked her “Where’s mommy’s nose?” and she GRABBED MY NOSE. [doug heffernon voice]GENIUS[/doug heffernon voice] But instead of writing about those kinds of things, I’m all “Dayum that girl can fart!”
Speaking of farts…

THIS is what tired sounds like

Today has been one of “those days.”
Gabby is sick. Double ear infections. And? She’s working on EIGHT teeth. My heart aches for her. I finally was able to suck enough snot out to allow her to breathe a little, and she is now taking a nap. (Let’s see how how long she actually STAYS asleep.)
I’ve been holding the girl for 2 days straight now. My back is aching, I smell like puke, pit and chex mix AND I have gas.
I’m not complaining though, I’m just “tellin’ it like it is”.
8 minutes. She slept for 8 minutes.
Before I go, I would like to leave you with todays Self Portrait.

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