Mandy: college graduate, super-sinful unwed mother, narcissist, graphic artist by day, disillusioned writer by night, also super-sinful liberal, feminist (need I mention?); mixed bag, you know.

This is an Unsolicited Parenting Advice-Free Zone. I bitch; you listen; isn't that how blogging works?!

Drinks will not be served. But wouldn't it be awesome if they were?
Blissfully Unwed

More awesome things I didn’t share with you over the Holidays: Grizzy Graham had his first bubble bath. At first, he was a little perplexed, but, after extensive research in the form of a taste test and consultation with his dad (the one where he’s looking up like he just saw Jesus was taken when B walked into the room; go figure, the parent who didn’t even facilitate the bubble bath gets all the credit :P), he finally decided to join Team Fuck Yes Bubbles. And it was adorable. 

I Was Free (Don’t Worry, It Was Brief)

It’s been a quiet day in Blogland, my loves, and, I won’t lie, that might be because my brain has already taken the long, fattening and regrettably-irreversible trip to Thanksgivingtown. I’m not trying to say that I’m “that kind of girl,” but dangle a four-day weekend in front of me, and I become kind of unfocused and suggestible. But only when stuffing and pie are involved - and not the sexy kind. Sorry, boys/girls. Actually, I’m only sorry to the girls. The boys can kiss my stuffing-enhanced ass.

Anyway, tonight, B went to visit his bestroked (I made that word up and it is rawrtastic, which is another word I made up that isn’t quite as good.) half-sister in the hospital, and, miracle of miracles, Mr. G joined him. I mean, this thing went from a Great, Thanks for Dumping the Baby On Me to OMGI’MFREEEE in about .3 seconds. And, as I just finished informing Barry, 3 is pretty much Jesus/God/The Holy Spirit/Whatever Other Names That Camp is Down With’s (Yahweh, you know, whatevs) favorite number.

There’s only one word that can describe the blissful two hours I spent purely, completely, and another useless synonym for 100% (THERE IT IS) alone. As usual, the only perfect word happens to be one of my favorites: magical.

Graham’s rubber duckie didn’t even know what to think. That’s how real this shit became. I’m sorry;  I know that “became” is a total adulteration of “got,” as in, “SHIT GOT REAL,” but, I’m sorry. My first allegiance is to grammar, not single-wide-trailer-cultural significance, no matter how real. I do have a degree, after all.

I mean, I’m pretty sure this photo wasn’t even necessary (you knew the whole lying in bed with alcohol thing was coming, after all), but, yes. There was beer.

Now that my partner is home and snoring beside me, irritation has overridden the urge to recount, I’m compelled to bid you all goodnight. So, goodnight, loves. There will be more bitchings tomorrow.

Girl Stuff, or Why the Fuck is Cosmo Using Bleeding Cowboy In an Editorial? Will Comic Sans be Their Next Unsuspecting Victim?