Marital Bliss

By Hot Mama

Hubby and I have had a lot of ups and downs. I have to say the first year was the hardest...there were moments when I thought that we might not make it. There were moments that I thought HE might not make it because I was ready to throttle him and bury him in the back yard.

The first year it seemed that we were still two separate people, trying to blend into one life…old habits died hard and new habits became something we strive for, and yet still had an unspoken resentment for. We still had sex constantly even though we had a 2 year old who still woke up several times a night. We got to know each other better…we realized each others annoying habits would not go away, and we started to learn how to deal with them and eventually embrace them. At least some of them. He still hates when I leave my clean clothes in the laundry basket for months at a time and I still hate when he is 3 hours late coming home from work and doesn't bother to call me.

There were moments when we didn't understand each other at all…when we were both reaching backwards to a life that was no longer a reality to us. The life before children and before marriage was fun…I will admit that and I'm pretty sure that he would, too. We both had a wild side…ok scratch side…we were wild. Period. We didn't care about anything but having fun, getting drunk, and looking cool while doing it. We were thrown together accidentally by an unplanned pregnancy 6 months after we had met. We broke up a day before I found out that I was pregnant and then got back together when E-Man was almost a year old.

During that year and 9 month hiatus, we couldn't stand each other. Long term relationship had not even been in the cards for us, let alone marriage. But somehow, being together with that gorgeous little baby gave us a renewed respect for each other, and eventually respect led to friendship, and finally love. It wasn't until we were married that we realized we barely knew each other…I mean, we KNEW each other, but not the people that being parents had made us…we spent that first year really digging in… what were we doing? Was it real love, or were we doing it because of the baby? Could he live with my anxiety problems? My fits of germ phobia? My terrible singing? Could I live with his inability to be on time? His TV addiction? His stinky farts? Yes. He could. I could. Thank God!!

The second year was full of new experiences. Just as we had gotten used to each other and our family of three, we were suddenly a family of four. I had a pre-pre-pre midlife crisis and decided to lose a whole bunch of weight and then dye my very dark hair a very light blonde. We got a puppy. We started trying to buy a house. We found out that it is possible to live on one income. We also found out while living on one income that it is not ok for me to shop at Target if I would like to stay married.

The second year of marriage is when I began my most difficult, most grueling, and most emotionally and physically challenging job of my life…the job of being a stay at home mom. Nothing could have prepared me for this task. My time was no longer my own. Ever. Everything I did, every move I made, every time I sat down to take a piss involved another person. Having two kids and having the so called luxury of staying at home involved Hubby being gone a lot of the time, either working for his regular job or working at a side job. A lot of the second year was spent apart. This is the reality that we are still living with, that we still struggle with, in order to survive.

I should appreciate the fact that he works his ass off for me and our family. He should appreciate that I spent 24/7 with the kids, that I get bored and lonely and that I never get to go home from my job because I live there…but it's not always that easy. It's fucking hard.

This is life…my life…OUR life…and the woman I am today still fights with the girl I was just 5 short years ago…when marriage to me was a wedding. Nothing else…just a girl in a white gown and a gleaming smile. Back then I thought the wedding was the important thing…I planned for it, I obsessed over it, and in a few short hours it was over. The gown was stowed away and what I had was this man who was just as scared of the unknown waters as I was. We dove right into it. Maybe we thought it would be perfect and it didn't take long to realize that nothing in life is perfect.

Maybe things aren't just as we dreamed they would be. We never dreamed that our child would have a terrible asthma attack and we would be sitting in Children's Hospital for a whole night, watching in agony at his struggle to take a breath. We never dreamed that Hubby would have a medical scare at the age of 29 that left us sitting on pins and needles for a month while we waited to find out that it was actually nothing. I never dreamed that a gynecologist would hurt me so badly in the presence of my husband that he would nearly knock the bitch across the room because I was in so much pain. We never dreamed that I would call 911 over a spider man sticker. None of this was in our dreams, and yet, somehow, it has become my dream come true. We are not perfect. We are not happy all the time. We are not going to lie and say that things have come easy for us at all times. Marital bliss is a myth…but the daily grind, the ups and downs, the shared laughs and tears, the knowledge that no matter what happens, this person will be in your corner, will stick up for you to other people, even if they know deep down that you are wrong…well, I wouldn't trade any of that for all of the bliss in the whole world.

This is the stuff of life…the spice of it so to speak. People have asked me if I knew the day that I met Hubby that we would be together forever…did I feel the fire? I can honestly say no…I felt a spark. A spark is nothing in my opinion. When I look at him now, I feel fireworks…and I truly believe that the lust and spark you feel when you meet someone…sure that is nice, but the explosion, the REAL fireworks, are the ones that you have to work for…and keep working for every single day. And I plan to keep working for them, even if I risk blowing myself up by working on them too close to Hubby’s stinky farts.

AwkwardBoners.Com

By Wormy

One of our avid readers, Three, came up with this website to compliment Awkwardfamilyphotos.com. Its awkwardboners.com and here is a sample that really, could be a gold medal worthy shot for either website. You'll never think of a walrus the same way again.



The wife has a knowing look on her face, as if she knows she can take it from that walrus. Dad is looking insecure over his manhood and the little girl is thankfully oblivious to the whole situation. She just doesn't want to touch the icky walrus.

Again, if you have ANY awkward boner/family photos you would like to share with the rest of the class, we welcome the opportunity to be the tracks for that train wreck.

Awkward Family Photos

By Wormy

I have found a new favorite website....www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com Below are some of my favorites. I'm terrified I'm going to see some of my own family photos on there one day. Enjoy!


That's gotta hurt, and how the hell did they get down?



I am so hugely disturbed by this one. Gives a whole new meaning to MILF. I mean really,who thought this was a good idea???


The 80's called...they so do not want their hair back. That marriage probably lasted as long as the cocaine did. That kid is ruined for life.


Don't we all want to do that to our Mothers sometimes?? Dad looks like he is either going to drop his pants for the wife to play with or he's taking off his belt to tie her up...not sure which is more disturbing. Clearly the daughter is having murderous thoughts about her mum. Thats just one fucked up family.


The Double Mint Twins on crack...its what happens when the money and TV deals run out. You have to start modeling ugly clothes and doing porn with ugly twins just to pay the rent.


This kid is going to grow up to be a serial killer and I really can't blame him.


If you have any awkward or hilarious family photos to share I would love to see them!!!

The Furries Are Back....

By Wormy

In case you missed this:



I don't even know what to say after that.

So, I Had A Sex Toy Party ....

Hot Mama, our new domestic correspondent, has started her own sex toy business. Which means she sells sex toys and other bedroom goodies. And because I am a good friend, I hosted a sex toy party to help her get some experience. And also to get myself some potential bedroom buddies, as I like to call them.

And while I have some KILLER pictures of Cousin modeling sexy clothes, I don't think I am going to post them. What I will post is a link to the The Burghseyeview, where me and the gang went a few weeks back to be guests on his podcast, and talk about above said sex top party.

I have to say, me and Wormy love going on his show. It is always a right on good time, and jr loves doing his sports segment. In this episode, and bear in mind this was several weeks ago, I talk about my desire to have sexual relations with Kris Letang. This was before our #letangssexhair craze, but you can tell it was coming.

So please enjoy the tipsy musings of me, @burghseyeview, @Wormy920, @DjLunchbox, @ChachiSays, and @shellrenee.

V Rock and jr. bling, chillin' in the Lounge.






Me, Shell, and Chachi, looking fierce.

#letangssexhair, Let's Play Ball!

For those of you not on Twitter, and really, why aren’t you?, let me explain a hashtag. A hashtag is something you do to a topic to make it ‘trend’ on Twitter, show up in everyone’s sidebar, and ensure you Twitter Rock Star status, even if it’s only temporary.

I have been on Twitter for some time, and one of the totally groovy things to come from this is all my fellow lady Pens fans. They are hardcore. Some are students, some are professionals, some are mothers, but they have two things in common: Vaginas, and a love of our Penguins.

They also share my taste for a certain player, a # 58, Kris Letang. Also known as Wang Bang Sweet Letang, Letangbana Boy, and followed by the hashtag #letangssexhair.

His lack of trending is surely not from a lack of effort on our behalf. Not only is he a great player (and getting better every game, in my opinion), he is also a certified Smokin’ Hot Burgher, officially sanctioned by the Queen of all things Burgh, Ms. @JanePitt herself.

So today, me and @adriennemcc were bemoaning the fact that we will have to wait until August to feast our eyes on his Letangyness, when it occurred to us: What if he needs something to do to keep in shape after he wins the Stanley Cup?

If just so happens that we are both on Team Shireman’s Sex Hair in the Yinz Team softball league, and hey, out of the goodness of our hearts and our sincere desire to see him maintain his physique in the off season, let’s see if he wants to play with us!

Our initial plan involved breasts, a calendar, and small children, but I decided to take it viral. If this doesn’t work, we have our Booby Jenga back up plan, but I am confident that once Kris hears of this, he will WANT to be a part of our team. So, Kris, call me. Don’t act like you don’t know the number.

And, in the meantime, if you aren’t on Twitter, you love hockey, Kris Letang, and boobies, join in and let’s send our fantastically-behienied #letangssexhair to the top of the Twitterverse, right where he belongs.

Tionesta: Where Mindbling Grew Up, In More Ways Than One

Hello. I am mindbling. I am the dog whisperererer.

There was a time, not that long ago, like last summer, when going to my camp meant getting drunk, putting several small children into a canoe, and hoping for the best. And not just me, but several of my closest friends and their children as well. Sometimes, for good measure, I would just pick up a random child and take them, too.

jr. was about ten before he realized that not EVERYONE has beer bong breakfast parties, that Red Bull can be drank alone, and that some people choose to keep their pants on all night. You can judge if you want but 1.) I don't care what you think, and 2.) I was raised the exact same way, only it was Deep Creek Lake, and not Tionesta, and when I was 8 years old my drunk father and uncle decided to teach me how to water ski by tying me to the boat, and not only did I survive, I went on the win several water skiing championships in my younger years, so suck it.

The thing is, this year it's different. Like so many other things in my life. I don't know why I chose 33 to grow up, maybe it chose me, but bottom line is, kids, I just don't hang like I used to. So this camp story is far, far different one from that I could tell you about last year, or the year before that, or any year stretching back to the when we bought the damn thing when I was 17.

A little background is in order. I don't want to get into whose family is more fucked up than whose, because quite frankly, I am confident I would win. To summarize, my crazy mother is raising my crazy sister's kids, my father is dead, and my step dad just died last year, so everyone in my immediate life under the age of 13 is either crazy or dead, but hey, it's my family, and I love them. I am almost positive both my father and my step father died as a defense mechanism, but that's another blog for another day.

The cabin in Tionesta was purchased by my step dad as a family getaway. Which was just silly, because not a single one of us wanted to getaway WITH each other; we were too busy trying to escape the fact that we are all related (well, I was), but at least one weekend a month we would all troop up there and spend a weekend getting bug bites and screaming at each other over a camp fire that at any moment could become some one's flaming deathbed.

The years went by, jr. arrived, then my sister quickly popped out three children she could not take care of in quick succession, my mother took over raising them, life went on, and camp grew to be a big part of our lives. I discovered that if I was allowed to bring a few friends and drink a shit-ton, I enjoyed myself. I discovered canoeing and redneck bars, and all of the sudden, I looked forward to our weekends.

The kids all grew up at camp. We have a huge corn pot that hangs on the wall, and I have pictures of my son, all of my nieces, my nephews, and all of my friend's kids getting their corn pot camp baths. There are rocks with names carved in them, stores whose owners have watched my son grow up, summer after summer, album upon album of pictures, and memories to last me and everyone who has been there a lifetime.

Then my step dad died (strange aside: he died of a heart attack after loading a fridge that he was taking to camp). I didn't realize how much he did in terms of keeping the place up, but all of the sudden, this Memorial Day, it hit me: the place was falling apart. My mother had a certified breakdown. What were going to do? With Sam (my step dad) gone, who was going to clean the gutters, patch the roof, do the yard word, replace the soggy ceiling tiles, fix the shed, power wash the porch, and basically make the place whole again? My 56-year old mother?

Why no. That would be me, mindbling.

So this past weekend saw me, jr., Polar Bear (the crazy sister) and my youngest niece and nephew, heading to camp with a credit card and a dream. Let's get this shit fixed up. And we did. We drilled, we sawed (and when I say we I mean everyone but Polar Bear. In an attempt to spend quality time with her kids, she bypassed her more drool-enhancing meds, which resulted in a very lucid, albeit very shaky, Polar Bear), we slugged nasty leaf-bug goo out of gutters, we hammered, we mowed, we climbed on the roof and fixed flashing and tarred seams and scraped moss, we did it all, baby.

Now, I'm not saying we did it right, and there is chance I may or may not have drilled through something vital to our electrical supply, but for now, the place looks good. And I feel good. I feel good because I spent an amazing weekend hanging with jr. I feel good because my sister got to spent an entire weekend with her kids, and they loved every second of it, I feel good because I gave my mom an entire weekend to drink wine and watch Lifetime movies, I feel good because now she doesn't have to worry about who is going to take care of things, because I, because WE, took care of things.

And I feel good because I kept my pants on the entire time. I am sure there will come a trip this summer when the beer bong will come out, when my pants will come off, when jr. will roll his eyes and make silent notes to review with his therapist, but for now, I am going to go ahead and call it: I did okay.


Sidney Crosby LOVES camp.


Jr. LOVES taking pictures of himself.


Yes, we let them play with sharp knives. No, they didn't get hurt. Yes, I know we're lucky. What is the point of growing up a BOY if you can't play with KNIVES??


jr. enjoys coffee around the camp fire as much as his mom. It's in his blood. Let's hope that he doesn't pick up some of my other, less desirable camp habits.


My darling niece also LOVES taking pictures of herself.


And here is the entire gang, on the roof, working away. I almost look like I know what I'm doing.

Who will pay for my plastic surgery?

By Hot Mama

The post-baby body is a total bitch to deal with for most women. I look at pictures of my 19 year old self, skipping around in a mini bikini, showing off my perky little boobies and my flat little tummy. Back then, I had a waist line. Back then, my ass just stayed where it was supposed to, no leg lifts or squats required. Back then, I thought that I was fat. Yeah...all 110 pounds of me. Now, my 26 year old self gets a new perspective when she looks in the mirror. The mini bikini had to be replaced with the new, improved 'tankini'...which may or may not happen to have the word 'full support' somewhere on the tag. The perky little boobs have been replaced with the larger, saggier version, whose soul purpose is no longer for fun, but also to sustain the life of a young child. They're not just there to make your sweater look sexy, people! Startling revelation? Believe me, I know! As for the flat tummy? Well, define flat...I'm sure underneath the stretch marks and skin, there must still be a flat tummy in there somewhere. My waist line no longer tapers in as it used to, my ass no longer stays put unless I work myself into a frenzy for an hour a day, sweating myself into oblivion with the help of Billy Blank's excruciating Tae Bo DVD.

Not that I don't give myself lots of credit...I have managed to lose over 30 lbs in the last 4 months...I am back to what I consider to be a normal weight...I would like to lose a little bit more, but I think that I look decent with clothes on.

Clothes off, however, is another story. I had decided after my first child that I would one day get plastic surgery...namely a tummy tuck and a boob job. My husband, God bless his heart, tells me that I am gorgeous no matter what...but he supports me in my decision to one day get nipped and tucked...which brings me to the point of this blog. Who the hell is gonna pay for this elective torture?

While scanning the net one day, looking at different plastic surgeons and dreaming of a body that does not so closely resemble my personal hell, I came across a site called myfreeimplants.com. This is a site where young women can go to have 'benefactors' (and by benefactors, I mean rich perverts) pay for their boob job. The women post slutty pictures of themselves and men can request to 'chat' with the women via webcam. Depending on how it goes, the men can then donate money towards the women they like and their new boobs. It's basically like going to a strip club...men paying for a body that they can see but will never be able to touch.

So, my question is this...who out there is totally into stretch marks just because they know that my tummy was the nest that carried two very gorgeous (and also very LARGE) baby boys into the world..and is willing to pay for my tummy tuck? Who out there can appreciate that I have breast fed 2 babies and is willing to pay for my boob job? Any takers? I didn't think so. It's sad to me cause I would just like my normal body back...I;m not trying to look like a porn star, I just want to not feel self conscience when I am naked in front of my own husband.

In conclusion, I would just like to say that I would not trade my kids in for anything in the world...they are the light of my life and everything I have been through has been worth it just to see their adorable faces every day. However, I wish that I could trade bodies with my 19 year old self...I bet that sexy little bitch could have totally gotten a free boob job.