the Bitch in the house

I say that butt-ugly is exactly right… wouldn’t anyone rather lay eyes on a wonder of a woman than something that looks like it crawled up from the sewer?! This is the topic of some of my most riveting converstations right now. LittleEinstein loves The Jerk and laughs himself breathless when he thinks about poopy anatomy or ridulous slap-stick. Even as I sit here writing all this to the void, my TeenPrince is dutifully doin’ his chores without complaint, and LittleEinstein is throwing Woody-esque punches in the air (of the ToyStory woodies) looking just like a rag doll in coordination and gesture, but his intensity and serious fierosity exagerate the marked extreme between desire and action. It is at times like this when I do feel overwhelmed by the testosteroney poisoning going in our little whitehouse in the middle of the street. Where I am awash in the grumblings, smells, and appetites of boys. I’m a feminist for chrissakes! Though I lovesdaboys, I also understand and get the man-hating slurs railed against women like me – we generally don’t dig hangin’ with peepee-on-the-outside varieties. Yet, it seems my personal doom, torture, even – to be overrun by maleness.