:chuckles:

I don’t market body parts. It’s a package purchase store these parts. Go raid the chicken coop and go Victorian on the masses…let them eat CAKE!

When you think of yourself, you refer to yourself as ‘I’. You have a softness for the dd, which your always in the middle of expressing.

That being said, you experiencing dId would explain being able to fill so many roles.

And I’m not ‘girly’. I’m in touch with my effeminate side, and it’s all bitch. Mother was a beautician, and having been able to applicate after seeing someone demonstrate is just one of my skills.

…that I haven’t gone yet. Still have brain surgery and the bar to entertain much prior. I don’t think 80 year old transvestites are all that sexy.

Just sayin’.

What am I supposed to be buyin’? Butter? Or your supple legs? I prolly should buy some butter since the kids want shortbread cookies and all…

But am I yer sis? I thought I was a denmother, or a blogmother or something? I guess you finally gave that up. Odd. It’s not even lent yet… and really, do you always give up that easy?

Yer so girly that way…

Even though you went all girly explainin’ it.

No, I wouldn’t…because I don’t wear panties. I R man. I R wearin’…ain’t tellin’ ya now!

…you cut your hair? (o)(o) I’m not cuttin’ mine…just shavin’. The face. Not my legs. Or arm pits.

Just sayin’ and clarifyin’. Like butter from the fridge for 30 minutes. Smooth. Supple.

…are you buyin’ this, sis’?

Sometimes my brain is going faster than my fingers type and it doesn’t come out right.

But, umm… when you talk about us coming from different places, does that mean you *would* throw your panties at Tom Jones or Wayne Newton?

And another thing…

Do I write like a boy with this new haircut? Just wondering…

You and I have two very different perspectives, but that’s understandable…we come from two different places.

You came from the place ‘down under’, Yomamma. I came from Mymomma. It too lied down under, but on a lateral position and distance from the other geographically.

I didn’t go all ‘girly’ about it, I got mad. The dd… she went all girly and called me to kill the damn things, which I did. I think it’s cute that you got all smiley thinking I went all girly… but unfortunately when it comes to bugs in the house, I get to be manly fracas again. We get spiders inside in spring and fall and I do manly duty then too. Please keep thinking I’m girly though… someone should. DD said she didn’t want me to cut my hair and look like a boy. I cut it anyway. Not sure if I look like a boy or not, but it’s too late.

anyways….

I knew that part about smell particles… another mom I know used to get really upset at farts for the same reason… lol.

and those women with Flea’s underwear?

Freaks.

Seriously. I think that kind of thinking is just really bizarre… and that’s how you know there are no fraccy panties in Tom Jones’ or Wayne Newton’s memory box.

But, um… lovely conversations we have, don’t you think?

The bad thing about roaches is that by the time they become visible a problem, they’ve taken residence in walls to the point of being bold enough to be in the open…almost like they’re giving people ‘the finger’ before running off, when they wait for 2 seconds standing still.

The worse thing is ‘the smell’. People who are sensitive to scent; especially those having histories of sinusitus; can actually smell roach droppings.

If blindfolded and even if a house was cleaned with bleach, if walked in by another person…I…could smell roach crap.

Molecularly, waste ‘smelled’ is actually pieces of the ‘items’ passing the receptors in the nose…as they pass on their way to the lungs.

Hence…the droppings become part of the person smelling them.

It’s like those women that wrung out Flea’s underwear and drank his sweat, the guy from Red Hot Chili Peppers.

“He’s a part of us now”.

They’re one thing I would freak over. Gahk…

The baby fraccy boy’s class has a salamander pet and they feed it crickets. Thrice, they’ve hitch-hiked home with him and I’ve found them in the house. I get reeeeeally mad.