First of all, let me say what a pleasure it is for me, Steenky Bee, to be leaving my mark over here at The Dayton Time. I'd also like to add that I'm also truly sorry, because Pamela, dear, I'm afraid those marks aren't going to come out easily.
Now on with the show...er...train wreck.
When Pamela begged me to guest post for her over here while she brought another precious little life into the world, I reluctantly accepted.
Wait. That’s not at all how it went down. Let's start over.
When I begged Pamela to let me take over her blog for a day because she would be spending quality time with her newest arrival, she reluctantly, albeit, gracefully accepted my incessant whining. I mean, who does that? Who begs to guest post on a pregnant lady’s blog?
Me. That’s who.
Well, anyway, The Mister, Pamela’s husband and self-appointed legal counsel, immediately sent me a list of ground rules for posting over here. He was all, “The Guest Poster agrees to the following terms as stated herein…..blah, blah, blah”.
For the record, I’m pretty sure The Dayton Time Guest Poster Agreement didn’t actually have the words, “blah, blah, blah” in the body of the contract, but I can’t be sure because I didn’t really read it all that thoroughly. I mean, who does that? Who draws up a 30-page legal document governing what a guest poster can and cannot do on their wife’s site?
The Mister. That’s who.
Another thing, funny how none of the other bloggers received one of those "rules for posting" emails. Yeah, Mister, I checked into it. Not one person, besides me, had to sign one of those suckers.
I glanced over the contract for a few seconds just to get the gist of the thing. For the most part, The Mister requested that I not use foul language. No f*cking problem there. He also had taken the liberty of completely filling five pages with examples of, and I quote “phrases, activities and inferred actions unbecoming of a blogger”. Under no circumstances was I to use any of the words on those five pages in my post on The Dayton Time.
I then began thinking that the Mister had no idea who he was messing with. I mean, how could he NOT know that I have gone toe to toe with The Hoff, back when he wasn't even known as The Hoff? That's right. Think way back before Baywatch, to his Knight Rider days. Remember when The Hoff was just David Hasselhoff, the cool guy with a funny name, a fast black car and the ability to eat a hamburger without grossing out America? Yeah, that guy.
Well, I can't really get into it here because; a)it's a long story, and 2) because The Mister's contract is solid and forbids me to talk about any violent activities that I've previously engaged in, are currently engaged in or are planning to be engaged in. But I will tell you this: it was in sixth grade, I was wearing a sequined leotard and there were Osmonds present. The Hoff put his finger in my freckled little face and told me to leave his car KIT “the F alone!” (I should probably disclose that this brief altercation took place in Utah and odds are, that if you're in Utah there will be an Osmond present at some point.)
But this post isn't about The Hoff, who I might add, refrained from swearing at me so technically he would be a welcomed guest poster here any old time, it's about Pamela and the Mister. And maybe more Osmonds. Keep reading. I promise it's about to get tolerable.
So after thumbing through pages and pages of smut words provided by the Dayton Time Family that I would not be allowed to write on their blog I realized I had absolutely no clue what 90% of those dirty words even meant. I mean, I'm from Utah. Hello?
So I did what any self-respecting person did, I jumped online and searched through urbandictionary.com for the meanings and I’m happy to say, that I found most my answers there. I’m horrified to say that most of the definitions from the list left me, well, horrified. But before I can get on with my actual guest post here, I’ll need The Mister to clear up a few remaining mystery words/phrases for me.
Exactly what is a “freckless dudebag” or a "rusty cog show"? And I can honestly say, I've never, ever heard of a "Flaming Osmond". Those were the only three terms that I couldn’t find by searching the web or asking my next door neighbors. (They have teenagers so, you know, they’re in the know. They placed their home on the market the day after my visit.)
I don't really want to end this post on a "Flaming Osmond" note, because eventually I did find out what it was and I’m pretty sure it’s either a mixed drink or an obscure insult. So I'm leaving Pamela and The Mister with this...
Having never given birth to a baby myself, I can offer no advice on the actual child birth portion of your experience, nor any witty recovery anecdotes due to the fact that both of my children found me through adoption. All I can tell you, and I'm sure you both know this well by now, there’s nothing quite like looking down into your baby’s eyes and promising them that you will love them forever. No matter what life, or that little being throws at you, including a Lego Miner Set, you know, the one with really pointy pieces that can, and will, bruise your knuckles if they hit just perfectly as your defending your face from an unprovoked attack from your precious four-year old son? No matter what, YOU WILL LOVE THEM FOREVER.
Congratulations to you both! I couldn't be happier for you and your family.
Everyone stop by tomorrow to read Jen from coconut belly and her insightful look into just what little Elliott has in store for him....