Jesus, Killoggs, come on! You're so boring lately. I'm counting on you to relieve the doldrums of my domesticity, stuck in the house chained to the baby as I am, but you're letting me down. I crave laugh-out-loud links, mean-spirited political discourse, and of course much more sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Not the kind of rock and roll you have to live in New York City to know about, though.
This morning arond 4am when I was changing a diaper, my son shat in my face. That's what I get for getting too close. I didn't want to turn on the lights and wake up my husband, so I was changing him by the light of the TV, and as I was inspecting his little asshole for klingons, he made a funny squeaking sound, scrunched up his face, and let loose with a projectile shit right into mommy's face. And all I could do was laugh.