Sometimes I like to drink and put on a dress.

So this little tidbit of info totally goes back to my previous blog "Remember that time when I was 4..."

Apparently some little 4 year old tyke decided he wanted to get in trouble so he could see his pops in jail. He stole some booze from his grandpa's cooler - somehow opened up the beer - drank it, mozied on down to his best friends house, broke into the house and opened her gift. It was a dress. A red dress. He put it on. He was found slurring his words complaining about how his mom wouldn't let him have that 7th candy cane....and it was heard that he was asking where Spongebob Squarepants was. Okay so that last part isn't true but I think that's how it happened.

There's a couple things here that I would like to discuss. I am dying to meet this little kid. Seems like he knows how to party. Kidding. But seriously, how about this mom? It was said that she noticed he was missing around 2:00 a.m. Hmmmm...my theory is that she mozied on in from the bar around that time and stumbled into the room to tuck in party boy and he was missing. Where is Timothy? she shouts. He must be in his happy place. Little Timothy is found in time to open his Christmas presents. So seriously nothing happened to this woman? Child abuse. This child is smart. He misses his dad so much but obviously doesn't realize jail is worse than his house, but maybe he is sending us (the public) a sign. Maybe his house is worse than jail. That's just my idea.

Hens

As Jeremie and I drove through North Georgia today I noticed a tiny house with a sign that said, "MaryJanes Farmgirl Sisterhood Henhouse." Flabbergasted at such a title I vowed right then and there to research this further. Upon my investigation into such a henhouse I have uncovered an underground Girl Scout-ish adult club. As it states on the website "a grown up girls 4-H club."

One who is interested in being a Farmgirl - with 52 badges to aspire to- should model themselves after a hen. A chicken is their mascot, her name is Henrietta. She is in fact the oldest domesticated animal. And she represents the "can do" attitude of a farmgirl, the little red hen, if you will.

If you are thinking to yourself...it's too late for me to be a farmgirl, I have wasted my life as a working mom who drinks too much wine at night, well you are in luck. If you have a wish to live your country bumpkin desires out through your daughter, you have come to the right place. You can make your little girl a hen. The desire for these hens is to make their youngins into farmerettes, farmgirls in training that love to get together hen and cackle style.
Check it out your local chapter, folks. You can be a successful Maryjane Hen in a week if you are hennish. Are you?
The best part about this is... that I cannot make this stuff up.

Remember that time...when I was 4...

So...this week my love has been out of town. Sad stuff. Jeremie went to Charlotte for work. And oh my gosh we have never been away from each other for a week! (insert cheeseball line). But it's has been good. I've had the chance to bond with my mom. That is always something I look forward to. I am able to be my true self with my mom and she gets me. She laughs at my jokes which makes me think about how I am with Sophie. While Jeremie has been gone, I also got to spend quality time with my little Sophie-gal...Jeremie's little 4 year-old daughter. Sometimes I find more insight and wisdom from a conversation with her than I ever imagined. It's surprising and refreshing. She says I'm her best friend. I think I am a pretty cool gal, but started to wonder how long will she say that? What age will she be when thinks I am uncool and asks me to drop her off a block away from her friend's house? Maybe that will never happen. This time I have spent with her just makes me realize how critical this time in her life is. This realization is something I didn't believe in. I, myself, have a very limited memory of my childhood at age 4. I have a feeling though, Sophie, as smart as she is, will remember everything.

People treated as animals!....Errrr...I mean animals treated as people

Ladies and Gentlemen -
Fancy Feast now makes an appetizer for cats. Mmmmmm and Hmmmmm....

I have two questions: First, what fatass cat needs an appetizer? Have you ever in your life seen a cat, and thought, "That cat could really benefit from a caloric increase." I give the company credit for decreasing the spread of viruses. Owner to cat: "Hey Tigger, instead of that bird you just killed,retrieved from the yard, and laid on my bed, munch on this flaked skipjack tuna in a delicate broth."
Tigger: "Thanks mom."

Second, what idiot that made this commercial actually thought that cats watch television? They are totally directing the ad to the cat. And you know the cat that was watching the commercial was pissed when they found out they could've been eating appetizers this WHOLE time. Watch out folks....dessert is next. Cats are smart. They will catch on.

What an awesome onesie!

Baby Showers.
Let's just take a minute and think about the little joys that are brought into this world. Thank you god for the little bundles.

I have literally been to too many baby showers this year that I can't count them on my two hands. Oh my god! Can you imagine me seeing another onesie? And can you imagine how my "ooohhhhs" and "awwwws" have lost their emphasis? There are only so many matching outfits I can be amazed at.

My idea ---when I am knocked up---I will NOT have a baby shower. Period. Hahahah...actually there is no period, get it?
Guests to the "so called shower" will show up but leave their gifts outside on the doorstep. I don't want all the hens to have a henfest over a lady with a bun in the oven. I don't see the amazement. Sure, I will be exited to have a baby, but I don't want my guests to pass around a dirty diaper, smell it, and tell me what kind of candy bar it is. I also am not crazy about the idea of my guests, walking in the door, given a clothes pin (a gift -if you will) and have it taken away when they say "baby." IF I had to had to have a party I would like my guests to enjoy bleu cheese, smoked salmon, and bacon wrapped scallops while drinking a fine cabernet....and I would never open presents in front of anyone. THAT is just me.

I must also take a minute to recognize my fellow single gals who do not have children. Taking a note from Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, there should be an anknowledgement that we are single and don't have children. She went as far to say that we should send out announcements that we are registered at a Minolo Blahnik---yeah I spelled that right, because I just looked it up. Pregnant women get so much attention and I see Carrie's point. I would just appreciate equal attention given to those that are not pregnant. Hey look at me, I'm 28 and I'm not pregnant. Whooo hoooo!

Are you there Crohn's, It's me Imodium

Dear Crohn's,

Oh my word, where do I start? We've had some good times, Crohn's. Like that one time when I got really skinny. Everyone wanted to be me and they were dying to know my diet secret. Or that other time I wish I had bought stock in Kaopectate because I was drinking a bottle of it a week. Then there was the embarassing stomach gurgling in a quiet room. Don't forget the sprinting to the bathroom - Dumb & Dumber style. And who could forget the times when I didn't make it to the bathroom, bringing the title of this blog to life!

People are always surprised when I can tell them where every bathroom is...in every store or restaurant....anywhere. Thank you Crohn's. You make my knowledge a convenience to everyone I meet.

But let's face it...I think it's time we say adios. Although I know that's an impossible request, that is my dream. To let you go. But you are a chronic condition. So instead let's work out a deal. Let me eat brocolli. You know no one eats brocolli...it needs to be eaten and enjoyed. I love it. I love it too much apparently. The past two sleepless nights have led me to writing a letter to my disease. What??? If I can't get rid of you, can we at least work on your schedule. You are so random. Please send me your schedule listing when you might be in the area....? That would be great. That way I can put on a diaper.

Please think it over and get back to me.
Thanks.
Yours forever,
Stacy "mudbutt" Holt

He enjoys to smurf silver.

Um, quick question to my blue man: Why would you keep taking/drinking silver when you know the side effect? It turned him blue! This man took colloidal silver for a skin condition. Now just take a look at him.

Reminds me of when I give my ass a call (the prescription I am on for Crohn's disease, called "Asacol," it causes diarrhea and abdominal pain).

But seriously, is he still on the silver because he plans on being Papa Smurf for Halloween?! Great idea and done!!

love means never having to say you're sorry = WRONG!

With Kanye West's recent outburst on the VMA's, I was waiting on his apology. Not his apology to me, although I think he should apologize to all of America for existing. But the apology due to poor Taylor Swift and the word rape she had to endure from this assclown. She was trying to have a kodak moment. I think Kanye apologized on his blog. Whoopty freaking whoop. Last night on the Jay Leno show he "almost" teared up when Jay asked what his mama would have thought. He was silent. And he was awkward. When he finally responded he could barely put a sentence together. He might have been choked up but I really think he only speaks rap.

This is when I got to thinking about apologies. When did people forget how to apologize? It's basically two steps. 1. You realize that you mucked up. 2. You fix it, you accept responsibility and you promise it will not happen again.

For those out there that are confused, read steps 1 & 2 again. I know admitting you are wrong is a difficult thing to do. Yes I do know this. However, it makes you a better person. It's self improvement.

There are things that you don't do. One thing that sticks out in my mind, you shouldn't say, "I'm sorry I said that, but that's how I feel" or "I'm sorry I said that, but I meant it." What???
If you sincerely apologize there will not be a "but" in your apology.

The title of my blog...

Hello all!!!
So I started a blog. I have started a blog. I am a blogger. I love to write...er type.
So the title of my blog originates from an SNL skit, but for me, it became my mantra when a group of my friends decided to start a weekly newsletter called "The Woodstock Weekly." I need just a minute to reflect on that great publication.....okay I'm done. My column was "Oops I Crapped My Pants"....long story short of that, I was diagnosed with Crohn's disease in 2004. For those who are not personally familiar with that disease, it means I accidentally crap my pants all the time due to inflammation of my intestine. Very serious chronic disease. Even more serious is how funny the jokes can be.
Back to the WW newsletter, its demise was a result of a couple of things. The hazy drunken nights led to memory lapses for content, plus the unpaid staff was unable to meet the deadlines. I miss it. Stay tuned, I'm very interesting! :)