Hey, look! Jenny McCarthy's on Sesame Street!

It's nice to see she's doing something besides that Autism activism.

What's this? She has a whole series of books about being a mother. I wonder what they're like.

Jenny, what do you have to say about marital relations during pregnancy in your book, Belly Laughs: The Naked Truth about Pregnancy and Childbirth?

PIG IN THE PASTURE (SEX IN THE NINTH MONTH)

I don't think pigs graze in pastures, but I just figured it sounded better than "pig in the mud." Any way you phrase it, this is exactly how I felt the one and only time my husband and I had sex in the ninth month. All the books tell you about "comfortable positions," and the one they really zero in on is the "doggy-style" position. Sure, it's great at an ideal weight, but when you're close to two hundred pounds, you aren't thinking dog...you're thinking pig. And I'm sure I sounded like one because my cries (of joy and desire, of course) sounded more like squeals than oohs and ahs. It was clear to me that my poor husband was concentrating hard on his Rolodex of fantasies because I sure as hell wasn't one for him anymore. I just wanted that piggy sex to end, but I hung in there like a good wife because I wanted to take care of my man. (Full disclosure: I was really "bad" the whole pregnancy. I never really "took care of him." I should have offered a couple of blow jobs here and there, but the way I felt every day, you couldn't have paid me enough.) [pp.147-148]

Um, okay. But what about-

Now, let me give you a better visual. My husband is very lean. Sexy as hell. But very lean. Most women would kill for his metabolism. As I propped myself into position and we began to get down, I could feel that his entire lean body was half the size of my ass. No joke. I couldn't stop thinking that his skinny frame was going to get stuck between my ass cheeks. So every time I felt him pump, I would clench my cheeks to keep from swallowing him up. All the while, I couldn't stop thinking how just plain wrong this was. This was not a high-self-esteem moment for a pregnant woman in desperate need of some. My advice: If you're not feeling it, don't try this one. Leave it to some lonely farmer. [p.148]

I... I see.

Hey, look! Ice-T is on Sesame Street!

Independence Day!

Happy 4th of July.

I went to my town's Independence Day parade, and it was completely fucking awesome. The highlights:

Our town's mayor was at the beginning of the parade. He works in the shipping center (read: mail room) of the company I work at.

The Grand Marshall drove past in the back of a convertible. He's 99.

My boss, who was one of the 4 people marching in the Republican Party delegation, waved at me.

The NRA gun safety float had a guy in an Eddie Eagle costume. A pleasant wave of nostalgia washed over me as I recalled his acting debut with Jason Priestly.

An old-fashioned pickup truck died in the middle of the parade, and had to be pushed out of the way. I felt bad for the people riding in the back; they looked like they didn't know if they were supposed to keep waving as they were pushed into a parking lot.

The beauty pageant winners: Tiny Miss Smalltown looked happy. Teen Miss Smalltown looked surly, blowing air through her lips in an irritated gesture. Regular Miss Smalltown just looked bored.

A row of Confederate soldiers in period costume. They paused to fire their rifles, and were followed by an enormous fat man, also in costume, without a rifle but carrying a book.

The town's fire department had all of its vehicles in the parade, and emergency vehicles from nearby counties were also present. I hoped that no one had an emergency while the vehicles were stuck in the parade.

There was a float for Boston Red Sox fans. I did not expect to see one south of the Mason Dixon line.

6-8 Shriners were present, wearing their fezzes, zipping around in tiny cars. It was difficult to count them all because they were wheeling around in synchronized formations, giving hand signals to each other to coordinate their movements. There were more Shriners in the parade than Republican Party marchers.

A group handed out freeze pops, which were eagerly accepted along the hot parade route. As an added bonus, they were attached to Jack Chick Tracts. Sadly, we got 3 copies of the same tract ("Party Girl").

I also met an old man who introduced himself by poking me in the ass with his cane and telling me not to move. He was going to sit in my shadow to stay cool, which was a sound theory but lacking in execution because I have seen lampposts and stop signs with more burly silhouettes. We helped him move his chair into the shade of a nearby sapling, and he talked with us through the rest of the parade. He wondered how the fire company could afford so many big vehicles with the current state of the economy, and noted that you don't see many niggers in these parts ("You probably call them black people," he said, "but I call still call them niggers"), and that it's horrifying how many obese women can be seen in the area (said while looking at an enormous, 300+ lb woman in a wheelchair who was sitting within earshot).

The obese woman held an infant that looked less than a year old. The infant was drinking diet Dr. Pepper, straight out of the can, and ignoring its nearby bottle.

Best parade ever.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, UNITED STATES!

Sound Parenting Decisions

Sending our daughter to daycare was an unavoidable necessity, so we spent a lot of time considering our options and carefully evaluating the places in town:

• Sister Knucklecracker's Purgatorial Childcare
• Typhoid Mary's Germ Nursery (Free Blankets!)
• Li'l' Axefighters Infant Dojo
• That Van Lurking by the Playground Fun Time Center
• Bob's Alligator Pit

In the end, we chose one for its friendly staff, clean facilities, and convenient location:



That's right. After a rigorous examination of childcare centers in our area, we went and chose the one by the porn store.

Decay of our society's moral fiber: 1
Responsible parenting: 0

I'm still not sure how it happened.

Well, I have an idea. We were so worried about the kind of people that our daughter would be exposed to inside of the daycare that we didn't pay enough attention to the kind of people that would be outside of it.

Why didn't I notice this earlier? The porn store is screened by the fried chicken restaurant, so by the time your brain is done saying "mmm, fried chicken," you've pulled into the daycare's driveway, handed over your check, dropped of your daughter, and are ready for something to eat.

I'm thinking I should get a coffee mug or something emblazoned with my new motto, "I routinely make poor decisions."