Well, hello there, visitors from Huckdoll’s Hood and repeat lovahs. I’ve been awaiting your arrival.

The toilets are clean, the floor is vacuumed, and dinner is ready for you on the table. That’s more than I do for my own mother, so feel special, bitches.

I thought and thought and thought about what you would enjoy reading about, and since I’m a less-than-average blog writer, I’m sharing my finale of my Top 100.

#1 it’s a list (and I LOVES me a list), #2 it’s a way to get you to know me, and #3 I need to finish this Top 100 thing out since I’m on post #235. I’m a bit of a procrastinator.

For previous Top 100s - #1-20, 21-40, 41-60, & 61-80.

81. I believe in a person’s right to choose on every aspect of life, except when that choice may lead to the demise or affliction of another person or animal.

82. I feel passionately about marriage rights and equal rights for every person.

Still with me? I’m really not that serious. I just wanted the quality readers to stick with me through good and silly.

83. I watch far too much TV for a healthyish person. When we bought our fancypants TV, we asked about the TV’s lifespan. The sales guy was all, “Yeah, it will last for 10 years under normal TV-watching circumstances.” I ask, “Sooooo, what is considered ‘normal TV-watching circumstances’?” Sales guy, “Ha Ha (I remember the laughing distinctly), you know, like 6-8 hours a day. Under those circumstances, the TV will last you at least 10 years.” Ummmmm…. I’m inclined to think our TV will last us about 2.75 years.

84. My fat neighbor has bigger boobs that I do. We drive past his house every weekend and have to see the pregnant man belly and boobs covered in man hair, so I know this for a fact.  For a fluffy woman, I have proportionately small boobs. I have to buy my bras in the fat-girl store. Not even in the JCPenney lingerie department. The fat-girl store. Even then, I have space left in the cups for storing food. nom nom nom

85. I was blessed with really great hair but not with the motivation to fix it every day. Or even every week. If I meet you at Target, it will be pulled back in a ponytail and my frizz halo sprayed down with hairspray. If you’re lucky, it will have been picked out. If not, it will be a nest fit for a rat. See my progression o’hair:

86. I have the best husband I could possible wish upon a star for. He believes him doing the dishes counts as foreplay. He flirts with my friends online and in real life, and I count that as foreplay. It’s Business Time.

87. I have two incredibly beautiful and smart girls. My oldest turns 4 on the 4th and my youngest is 2 1/2. If you mess with them, I will cut you.

88. I started a web store after I quit working to stay home with my girls. It’s pretty successful. Go there and buy something. Now. This will wait.

Did you go? No? GO NOW, BITCHES. BUY. Mama has an IRS bill to pay.

89. I have recently discovered Plurk. Because of Plurk, I no longer care for my children, do laundry, bathe blog as much as I want.

90. I loves me some queso. I have the belly to show for it.

91. I believe you should dress for your size. Yes, fat girls, you, too. I never have and never will claim to be a fashionista by ANY means. But, come ON. If you have a belly, wear a shirt that doesn’t hug your Michelin Man. Stuff that muffin top back in your low-riders, take your fat ass to Lane Bryant, and get yourself some pants that fit.

92. I believe I have the face of a 14-year-old boy. Just without the black peach fuzz. I’ve always had bad skin, but once I got on the Pill at 18, it cleared up for the most part. During my two pregnancies and nursing, my skin was near flawless. But now. I have enough grease on my face, back, and chest to run a Taco Bell. Please don’t suggest skin care regiments. I’ve tried Arbonne, Neutrogena, Proactiv, Dove, Ivory, and prescription shit. NOTHING works. Next step: Accutane.  SHIVVVERS

93. I have suffered from IBS (irritable bowel syndrome) in the past, and it creeps up on me like your Grandma’s ex-lax. I spent 4 days in the hospital a few years ago due to severe stomach pains, had my gall bladder out, have been on anxiety meds, and have finally gotten it under control. Aside from the occassional peeing-out-of-my-ass incidents, I’ve been pretty good since having my girls. Now since I’m saying I’m good, I’ll have an episode tonight on the floor of my bathroom. NO - not the ass pee on the floor. ME on the floor writhing in pain while my Ambien-taking husband sleeps the night away.

94. I believe the DVR/TiVo is the greatest invention since bread television. I was raised in a TV-watching household, so I blame my addiction to TV on my parents. I remember watching 90210 in high school w/ my sister and my dad, and my dad would get PISSED if we took a phone call during the commercials. I can still hear him yelling at me down the hall as I broke up with my Senior-year boyfriend over the phone during the commercial of a taped episode. (That’s me confessing to breaking up with my Senior-year boyfriend over the phone during the commercial of 90210.) It’s a serious addiction, but one I’m not going to give it up. Even if you came and filmed me on an episonde of Intervention. But that would be kinda cool to be on a TV show about an addiction to TV.

95. I believe Barack Obama should be our next President. If he’s not, we’re coming to Vancouver. For serious.

96. I believe I am the best mom I can be, but I think I can strive to be better.

97. I am a HORRIFIC housewife. One of the reasons I started my webstore is was to be able to afford a housekeeper. I believe The Secret brought her to me.

98. The best thing about being stay-at-home or work-at-home is being able to shit in my own toilet. See #93. Once you have the pleasure of taking a deuce on your own shitter every day, I can imagine it’s tough to go back to having to go up 3 floors to use someone else’s crapper so your co-workers don’t hear your poo’s splashback.

99. One I should never write long posts if one I am is not willing to read long posts. Unless you promise to end with a joke or are as funny as watching a monkey play with his own nutsack (and who doesn’t find that funny), keep your posts simple and easy-to-read. Mama’s got 145ish things to do.

100. I am always right.

I don’t get it. Really. Don’t get it.

The only part of eDrama* that I MAY be able to comprehend is the anonymity of it. Where you can say whatever you want about someone else and they can’t bust your tires. Or they won’t give you an icky look across the grocery aisle. Or they won’t ostracize you at the 3 year old birthday party.

But to accuse another blogger of stealing their “material”?

Ummmm. Exsqueeze me?

Start accusing me, please. I read about 150 differnet blogs a week, and I beg, borrow, and steal from each and every one of them.

When I may refer to myself in the 3rd person, I’m stealing from Bossy.

When I post pictures of my kids, I’m stealing from Sarcastic Mom.

When I Picnik my pictures, I’m stealing from Mental Poo.

When I talk about sex, I’m stealing from XBox4NappyRash.

When I talk about depression, I’m stealing from Bliss in Bloom.

When I talk about the crazies in my family, I’m stealing from Shamelessly Sassy.

When I’m crude, I’m stealing from Avitable.

When I put my face on someone else’s picture, I’m stealing from Fussypants.

When I talk about busting someone’s ass, I’m stealing from Miss Britt and Magnet Bold Too.

When I talk about the craziness of running a household, I’m stealing from Mom2My6Pack.

When I post artistic pictures, I’m stealing from Secret Agent Mama.

When I answer reader questions, I’m stealing from Rosie.

When I close my posts to comments, I’m stealing from Dooce.

When I talk about my husband being an awesome dad, I’m stealing from Busy Dad and my own husband.

When I insert pictures into my posts to reinforce my point, I’m stealing from Derfwad Manor.

When I talk about losing a family member, I’m stealing from Kaiser Alex.

When I’m completely random and talk about my life, I’m stealing from Huckdoll.

When YOU post a LIST, you are STEALING FROM ME. And I’m sure 1000 other bloggers.

So, please, for bloggy’s sake. Keep your drama to your mama, and post for yourself and no one else. Don’t post for other people.

By the way, you may see other’s posting about eDrama tonight and this week. We’re not stealing from each other. We all just happen to be thinking of the same thing on the same day.

If you have some eDrama to bring my way, I welcome it. Maybe I’ll get more readers.

*I stole the term eDrama from Shamelessly Sassy. I better watch my fat ass.

Little known facts about me you really didn’t need to know but my head doesn’t work even though I’m a smarty but since puppy dogs and daisies are taking root in my brain, I’ll just expose myboobsself. And I loves me a list.

*I still wear maternity pajamas. Cause they’s sexy. And they make me feel skinnier.

*I had eleventeen ideas on what to post about tonight when I was lying with my girls begging them with my mind to sleep, but they’ve all flown away.

*eDrama sucks nutty balls. I never want to be a part of it, and hope no one ever feels the need to attack me. If you do, I have some scrappy bastards ready to come after you. Not that I’m threatening. Just saying.

*I have a housekeeper whom I probably pay too much. Shut up. I know. But I won’t can’t clean.

*DO NOT FUCKING try to make me feel better about saying this, but I’m a suckass blogger. It’s the whole puppy dogs and daisies taking root.

*Or the nasty “d”-word is creeping into my head.

I leave you with this, big fat fucking creeping-in depression. You suck nutty balls.

I was inspired by the genius that is Magneto Bold Too for the use of the smite pic. I don’t want to get involved in eDrama and get accused of stealing shitty shit.

And now for a little guest post from Bosssanders:

I’m not really sure how this whole guest blogging thing works. Do I introduce myself? Are you supposed to google my name and get all the dirt you can on me before I even start? Okay. I’ll wait right here while you do that. You good? Great.

Oh crap. See. I already screwed this up. Do I use real names or fake names? I am NOT calling you “Mama.” Nope *shake head*. I put my foot down.

MissSmartyPants (the author of this blog, who I’m not sure if I can use her name or not…you know, the lady who entrusted me to write a quality blog post? Sucka! Yeh, her…) had asked in a comment to one of my most recent blog posts about both geocaching and cycles. I’ll cover one of those lovely topics…with a story:

*Ahem. Clears throat*

Despite the numerous claims, I do not wish to inflict pain upon my in-laws. Mostly. (Just kidding if you find this, somehow.) Anyhow, last weekend we found an awesome geocache (stick with me, I’ll explain more later). And, me being the kind-hearted, sweet, loving, awesome (get the point yet?) wife of their son that I am, I decided to invite my parents-in-law. I told them about how awesome geocaching was - a sport where you combined hiking and “treasure-hunting” by using a GPS to locate waypoints with cool little treasures hidden. I told them how great this particular trail was - only a small hill that “didn’t make me breathe hard climbing” and no swarms of angry mosquitoes and mostly clear trails. They got excited and we made it a date (this past Wed).

Unfortunately, somewhere in the conversation there was a mix-up. A conversation gap. Hearing of voices. Bright lights. What THEY heard was: Super easy trail. On a road….a paved road. Little to no walking. At all.

And, then of course, when I told hubs to please relay to his parents that they would need: a walking stick, water, tennis shoes, bug spray, and items to trade in the geocache… he forgot.

I was a little confused when I offered to take our one year old daughter, L, and put her in the baby carrier and her Granny (his mom) told me that she wanted to carry her. I became a little more confused when she refused the perfectly good baby wrap/carrier/sling. I warned her, but nobody listens to me. And, so we began. Without an extra 20 lbs on my front, I could run up the steeper-than-I-remember hills. His mom? Not so much. I could hear her cursing my name and possibly even damning my existence 20 feet away. Father-in-law (FIL) was walking with a make-shift walking stick that bent with every step…and, with every step, it snapped off an inch or so. All of them (except for L and I) were smacking mosquitoes.

All things considered, I think it went fairly well. We hiked, found the nifty treasure, explored remains from an old hotel and old homes that were in the area. We walked over old balconies and over old foundations and where parts of bathhouses still lay. We imagined where bedrooms once were in homes, and found old ice-boxes (actually, we just saw one) and we even found a home where the fireplace and chimney was all that was left standing. On the way back, we watched the sunset over the lake. It was beautiful, it was serene…except for the heavy panting in the back and the sound of sister-in-law’s goofy boy friend sliding down the hill…on his back (in loose gravel).

Nobody died from that trip - yet (despite numerous threats). Although that is still to be determined, because last night, after we got back - hubs and I pulled a combined total of 25 ticks off of ourselves. Okay, okay. Actually he pulled them off of me as I whimpered and squealed like a baby. But, I swear if you ever try to bring it up again, I’ll deny it. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Shut up.

The moral of the story? There’s not one, really. Except, if you go geocaching, wear walking shoes, bugspray, and comfy clothes to walk in. You might even want to take some water to drink. And, if walking makes you feel like you’re about to die, this might not be for you. Just sayin’. Oh yeah…one more: If your daughter in law happens to be me…you should listen to her and take the damn baby carrier. You will not want to walk 2 miles with a 20 lb squirmy child, and nobody else will want to carry her the rest of the way, seeing as how you volunteered. That daughter-in-law of yours? She’s one smart cookie. Amen.

*Disclaimer: I’m a smart ass and anyone and everyone is subject to my smart-ass-ness. I love them (YOU) all the same. Really. I swear.*

Next week: MissSmartyPants will explain what a cycle is to you all. Be sure and ask her lots of personal/gross/icky questions about it.

Inside my head for the evening:

*puppy dogs and daisies. soooo cute! squishy mushy fluffy KISSES!

*my neck is sweating

*my lappy is burning a hole between my legs (X - i’ve handed you this one on a platter)

*ihopethegirlsdon’twakeup ihopethegirlsdon’twakeup ihopethegirlsdon’twakeup ihopethegirlsdon’twakeup ihopethegirlsdon’twakeup

*i can totally do those moves on SYTYCD

*yup - just did them all

*i’ve been waiting YEARS for a show like Baby Borrowers. it should be required viewing for ALL teenagers.

*is my Plurk page updated?

*fast-forward Baby Borrowers

*saying, “i’m good with kids” does NOT make you a good parent (see: me - i’m not good w/ kids - just my own)

*dag nabbit - these teens get their own fancy furnished house - that’s not real life - try living with your mom’s hand-me-town tupperware and the $1 store pots & pans - THAT’S real life

*why isn’t plurk auto-updating. awful lot of plurccups the last few days. grrrrrr

*will someone volunteer to take my girls off my hands when they’re 10-18?

thanks to Lotus for the graphic

It’s OK, Honey. Enter through the ass cheeks.

Since I’ve been so busy working and Plurking doing housework, I’ve been neglecting my award-winning writing abilities on my blog.

But, since this is my friggin blog, I’m doing what I want with it, sucka.

Here’s a gem of a video from this weekend:

I’m becoming a photo blogger. Thanks, Plurk, you bitch.

I’m up for a challenge, and since I take 157 billion pictures, this one’s a breeze.

OHMommy at Classy Chaos has challenged her loyal readers to take and post pictures of heads.

Simple enough for me since my girls are tired of smiling for the camera, and all I seem to get these days are the sides or backs of their heads.

beach head

1-day-old baby head

pouting head

kid heads