So, as most of you already know, Wendy was born perfect and healthy in late March.  I've been learning to cope with a two-child household quite well, all things considered.  Yes, Jason, the occasional dose of alcohol has been involved.  You can suck my left nut--the one I wish I had in a jar, but was irrevocably crushed when I stomped that asshat in the groin with my pointy slut boots in retaliation for his kicking me in the stomach when I told him I was "late".  I consider it mine, since I was responsible for its demise.  Kind of like taking war trophies.  (Speaking of which, have any of you seen the trailer for "Inglorious Basterds"?  I'm going to watch it nine times in the theater, if for no other reason than to see Eli Roth's crooked smirk again and again and again).  This was seventeen years ago, go ahead and hold that against me.  I don't mind.  These days, I find it easier and easier to be the scapegoat for every neck-bearded basement-dweller on teh Interwebs.  It costs me nothing, and gives me hours of amusement.

I'd write more, but at the moment I'm tired the hell out from my weekly "Friday Night Deck Party", consisting of me, a four-year-old, an infant, Project Playlist, fireflies, bubbles, baby Brie, and the hipster neighbors across the fence who don't have much to say to me since I'm not all that into Panic At The Disco but who can't get enough of water-balloon fights with my young'un. 

Oh, and Penny has expanded her repertoire from arm-locks to choke holds.  I can't *wait* for the visit from CPS once she's entered Kindergarten.