It was exactly SIX months ago that my husband bravely and voluntarily offered up his nut sack to a doctor he barely even knew to do a little procedure called The Vasectomy.
I’d like to think that he did it out of love for me, out of respect for my tired uterus and my thrice stitched vagina, but deep down I know he did it so that he could “Tap That Ass” as frequently as his little, er, extremely large heart desires, without threats of bodily harm and/or death. (Example: “FINE! But I swear, if you get me pregnant, I WILL KEEL YOU!”)
And what a better way to celebrate the six month anniversary of The Day He Got His Shit Snipped then to get a voice mail from the doctor’s office that said the following words:

Dear Mr.PigHunter, we got the results from your sample and they were negative. You don’t need to bring any more samples, you’ll all done.”

(Yes, it took him SIX months to take a flippin’ sample in. Someone was Proscratinatin’ with the ejaculatin’.)
I had mixed emotions when I heard that message. I felt a bit of sadness because, Wow…I can never make babies with this man ever again and also, WOW…I can never use the term The Weapon of Mass Fertilization&trade ever again.
But mostly? I was happy and excited because OH MY GOD! PIGHUNTER’S STERILE, Y’ALL! Let the spermless humping begin!

When PigHunter and I were first married, I would get up with him every morning to make him a wonderfully nutritious lunch and a big, fat egg burrito.
I didn’t mind getting up at 3 in the morning, because I could go straight back to bed after he was gone. Ah, the joys of not having to go into work until 1:30 in the afternoon.
Some of my friends thought that I was crazy for getting up that early, but I really didn’t mind. In fact, I enjoyed it. I was young, happy, crazy in love and having The Legal and Jesus Approved Sex at least 3 times a day. I was happier than I had ever been in my 19 years of life on this planet and I woke up excited every morning to express my happiness by making a big, cheesy burrito and a lunch box filled with good food for my man.
A few months into the marriage, the Joy of Scrambling Eggs at 3 in the morning started to wear off and I would dread the sound of the alarm. But still, I’d get up, make him a burrito and a lunch, kiss him goodbye and go right back to sleep.
Then, one morning, I didn’t feel like getting up.
“I’m so tired, babe.”
“It’s ok, you stay in bed my love, I can make my own lunch.”
I can make my own lunch.
Those 5 little words changed everything.
I did get up to make him lunch still, but only a few days a week instead of every single day.
And then a few days turned into one or two days.
Then I just stopped completely.
Every once in a while, I’ll wake up early and surprise him by packing him a lunch and making him breakfast while he’s in the shower, but 16 years and 3 kids later, I really value my sleep, so when I say “every once in a while” I mean, like, 2 times every year.
There are some mornings when Tony will come in here to kiss me goodbye while I’m sleeping, (and sometimes, he’ll left my shirt up and play with My Bobs, and then next thing I know, he’s on top of me and we’re having a 5 am quickie.) but most mornings, he rushes out the door without saying goodbye.
Ever since we received the news that we had to vacate this house, Tony has been coming into the bedroom every morning and kissing me gently while telling me how much he loves me, how much he’s going to miss me and how he can’t wait to come home from work and see me again.
You see, since we were faced with this “life crisis”, we’ve been doing a lot of talking. We’ve been talking about things we normally don’t talk about, like our feelings.
PigHunter has feelings! Who knew!
We’ve had some pretty intense conversations. Some of them have been positive and uplifting and ended up in some Pretty Sweet Boinking. Some of them have been painful and brutal (“I’m SO done with you!” “Oh yeah? I’ve BEEN done with YOU!”). But with each conversation we have, one thing is always evident.
We love each other deeply and we want to keep our family together.
I love my husband more today that I ever have and apparently, he feels the exact same way.
That is why he doesn’t want to leave the house without kissing me and telling me how much he loves me. (He told me this while we were waiting for our burgers and fries in the Wendy’s drive-thru!)
That he has decided he needs to take a few minutes out of his morning to say goodbye to me and tell me how much he’ll miss me while lavishing my sleepy head with kisses is the most precious thing in my life right now.
(I will wait while you go rinse the vomit from your mouth because I know that made you sick.)
It makes me so happy that I almost want to get up early, scramble him some eggs, pack him a lunch and maybe give him a little loving in the form of a, what do the kids call it? A BJ?
Almost.

Today the gravity of it all hit me like a Mack Truck and I had my first panic attack in 4 years.
We shouldn’t be in this position.
Sure, our landlords were cold hearted jerks for doing what they did in the way that they did it, but ultimately, this is our fault.
Entirely our fault.
That’s not to say I’m not angry with them for the lies that they told us.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to kick you out, we’re going to give you plenty of time to find a new place.”
Two days later: Hi, you have 30 days to get the hell out of here.
As I take the pictures of my children down off of the walls, I break down into tears and sob.
I love them more than I could ever express in words, and yet, I’ve failed them in so many ways.
Andrew just wants to graduate from 8th grade with his friends, I can’t promise him he’s going to be able to do that.
That hurts me to the core of my being.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry”.
That’s all I can say to them, but it doesn’t make any of this easier.
I don’t want this to turn into the “we got kicked out of our rental house and OMG! What are we going to do?!?” blog, and yet, “we got kicked out of our rental house! OMG! What are we going to do?!?”
Sadly, my AMAZING AND TOTALLY AWESOME plan to get picked to be on Deal or No Deal bombed in the biggest way, so all of my plans to win a sick amount of money by picking the lucky case got flushed down the toilet, along with all of the money we’ve wasted on rent over all of these years.
What? I didn’t tell you that I was going to go to an open casting call for Deal or No Deal? Whoops, must have slipped my mind! Because I totally didn’t keep it from you on purpose because I was worried about being mocked and called a loser! (Or about someone driving there just to stalk me!)
Not quite in the mood to write about it just yet, but because I am a giver and because this makes me laugh when all I want to do is cry, I’ll leave you with the email that Lena sent me the day after we spent 6 damn hours standing in line.
Things You Shouldn’t Think About Today
Vi pop-locking in line.
Lena going toe-to-toe with ladies with strollers.
Y’s kidneys failure.
The old man going after the big black booty in his crotch.
The cows from the group home.
What the guy in front of us looked like when he took his shirt off.
Y worrying about The Farting Worm.
Y convinced that the Staff Member with the Bullhorn was “just trying to get us to leave”.
What the bathroom smelled like.
My big ass blisters.
The big band version of “Hollaback Girl”.
Lena shouting out “Deal or No Deal” before hours later deeming them “users”.
Vi crying that “I’m not interesting!”.
Y getting pissy that “they want us to sell ourselves” and then writing 8 paragraphs.
Lena yelling at people to “go home” and getting all angry when they wouldn’t.
And the #1 thing you shouldn’t think about:
That we all got up in the middle of the night.
(Seriously, if I ever email you and say “Hey! Let’s go audition for a game show because, like, we are totally what they’re looking for and it will be so much fun because OMIGOD! We’ll get to spend time together being our wild and cerraaazy selves!!! Tell me to go SCREW MYSELF! I bet you Lena wishes she would have.)

The boys are off for Spring break, which means my daily schedule has been completely thrown off, which means naptimes and “computer times” have been moved around or forsaken completely.
There are have been a few times where I wanted to sit down and write about something that The People (that was for YOU, Danny.) just HAD to know, but then the boys would ask me to please do the laundry so that they would have clean socks to wear to play basketball in.
God. They’re so demanding.
Actually, this has been a very enjoyable, stress free spring break. Now that they’re older and a little more mature, they don’t fight as much, they aren’t eternally bored and bonus! They like to go spend all of their time at their friend’s house!
There was a time where, as much as I loved having them home all day to do things like go to Chuck E Cheeses or Discovery Zone, I would feel like ripping my hair out by the second day of vacation because they would fight every second of every day and cry that they were “bored” and had “nothing to do.”
It would seem that those days are long gone and as much as I miss them being little, it’s kind of nice being able to enjoy their company without having to listen to “Moooom, I’m so boooooooored.”
Speaking of bored…
Last night I decided to go to the gym early to get ma’ free weights and ma’ crunches on before Aerobic Dance class.
The area designated for “ab work” was being hogged up by two little teenagers who were doing more talking (and texting) then they were actual ab work. I thought I’d go ahead and do all of my leg weights since it looked like they were going to be there a while.
When I was finished, those little hos were STILL laying there, gossiping, giggling and sending text messages on their totally awesome cellular devices.
I wanted to walk up to them and say “So, hi. I really need to do some ab work and you’re taking up all of the room and I noticed you’re not actually doing sit ups, but socializing and while I realize you have all of the time in the world because you’re young with perky tits, I don’t. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m old. And also fat and as I’m talking to you I could be developing diabetes, or have a stroke, or go blind so if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate it if you got your tight little asses up off of this floor and take your conversation elsewhere because I’ve got 50 pounds to lose and it aint going to happen if I can’t do some mother fucking crunches.
But, being the kind and loving soul that I am, I just walked by and gave them dirty looks whilst letting out one of those “OH MY GOD, YOU’RE SO ANNOYING” sighs and headed for Aerobic Dance class.
AD class was better than it’s been the past few weeks. She lightened up on the “grapevines” and added some actual dance moves like “the mambo” and the “one where you run forward for three steps and then do this really awesome kick jump” (and not to brag, but I totally nailed it.) However, it still wasn’t the same Aerobic Dance that I fell in love with back in 2005. Gone are the days of “The Monkey” and “The Dirty Dance.” It’s all “Grapevines” and “V-steps” and I’m sorry, that’s so 1985.
I hate to say it, but I do believe that my love for Aerobic Dance has begun to wither and I think I may be done with it.
All good things must come to an end, I suppose. But damn, it was fun while lasted.
Maybe I’ll take up pole dancing. I’m just not quite ready to stop “spending my husband’s hard earned money on ridiculous things like dance lessons.”

Today is The Big Day.
The day when I will sit in front of a panel of 5 people and answer questions like “why do you think you’re qualified for this position?”
(Do they actually ask that question? The last time I interviewed for a job was in 1990, so it’s been a while.)
I’m not nervous at all, which makes me nervous, because, shouldn’t I be nervous?
I guess I’m not nervous because I’ve decided that if it’s meant to be, I’ll get the job. If it’s not meant to be, then I won’t get the job.
I’m surprised by how calm I feel. Normally, today would be a post filled with EXCLAMATION POINTS!! AND ALL CAPS!!!
What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I not freaking out? DID SOMEONE PUT PROZAC IN MY CEREAL?
Ok, that felt better.
I’m just hoping that no one on the panel reads my blog, because that might not work in my favor.
“Whoa, I know that woman! She writes about her vagina on The Internet! PASS.”
The longer that I sit here and type, the more I find myself thinking of all of the things that could go wrong in this interview and while it doesn’t make me “nervous” it does make me think that I should take some gas-x.
*pffftatraatatatateeewffaaa*
You know, I’ve been pretty lucky as far as farting accidents go. For as gassy as I get when I’m nervous, I’ve only had two farts slip out in social situations in my entire life, and I almost got away with one of them.
The second one, well, I went ahead and claimed it as my own and moved on with my life. (Although, moving on with my life wasn’t as easy as one may think because when you fart in front of a bunch of kids that are supposed to “respect your authority” it takes a while for them to take you seriously again and to not make juicy farting noises every time you walk by.)
I almost freaked out about “having nothing to wear” but decided that if they don’t like my polka dotted skirt, then I don’t think I want to work for them anyway. (Translation: my polka dotted skirt is pretty much the only one that still fits me and I refuse to buy new clothes in this size. Flat.Out.Refuse.)
I should probably go get ready now, since I have to leave here in less than an hour.
Do you think they’ll notice if I don’t shave my legs?