Read Funny Short Stories to avoid The Burbing Breathe of Boredom

My post-pregnancy body is on a downward spiral: - Belly, previously a prized possession: now a deflated balloon. - Eye socket skin: threatening to release eyeballs if I don't sleep soon. - Hair: untended, unwashed, limp. - More hanging body parts hanging out in my recovery mesh underpants. Tummy-grabbing, nana-knickers, courtesy of St Mary's Hospital, after a painfully natural birth. (Disclosure: Turns out that these disposable undies, un-disposed of, are far comfy-er than the skimpy red ones I wore at conception. And, in the gospel according to this mama, they have earned their own sanitized brand of "sexy": over-washing has worn the mesh full of additional holes. Hubby, however, needs convincing of this theory.) Thankfully, there are two things, well three, that defy the droopy nature of my 'new mama' style. Firstly, introducing...drum roll... - Double-threat, bulbous bazoongas:  Phenomenal fertile factories of milk. Milk that could easily be mista

An early morning diaper change, barely awake. I remove the diaper, and check the contents - nothing extraordinary. Tossing the diaper into the trash over my shoulder, I yawn and pluck a couple wet wipes. I got this. Half-asleep, 5am, no problemo. I could do this baby business blindfolded now. Baby  Boy looks at me, cooing, in a happy morning mood. Through my own morning misery, my lips can't help but break a smile, breaking my lip crust (after having drooled through two whole hours of uninterrupted sleep, following Feeding #10 at 3am). This morning, I learn this vital lesson:  - Have Your Next Diaper Ready Before you Undo the Last Suddenly, I am bombarded by simultaneous eruptions of spurting poop-lava and a warm pee-fountain. I swiftly field two additional streams of hissing poop, as they squirt furiously in various directions, using only wet wipes as shields. I am gravely under-armed. As calm gradually returns to the scene, I contemplate the anti-climactic clean-up. Then,

I bought the time management book "Getting Things Done", read a couple of chapters with difficulty and put it down. It stayed down. If you have problems following projects through, then the last thing you're gonna finish is a book about how to follow projects through. Right? Not sure if the book is unintentionally ironic or an evil conspiracy against the self-esteem of practiced procrastinators. I'm a procrastinator and I want my $15 back to buy some iPhone games. Procrastination Tips and Tricks: 1. Sleep in. 2. Start the book "Getting Things Done." This book could be the answer to all problems. 3. A text comes in. Reply to it and to all other texts you have not answered because you are always so busy. Do the same for email and Facebook. 4. Comment on Facebook Posts. After all, they say relationships are the key to happiness. 4. Play 2048 on cell phone. One game of 30 minutes will seem like 2 seconds. After 6 games, you can already get to wonder

My sister Julie bought a pig. Not a puppy. Not a kitten. Not even a hamster or a rabbit. A pig. It was a black-haired Vietnamese pot-bellied piglet. She lost all claims to creativity by naming him Pig-Pig. Not Ham-ster, not Boar-Butt, not Baby Back Ribs, but Pig-pig. Pig for short. When I first met Pig-pig, he had outgrown his cute, bunny-sized stage: he had left his stubby, wet piggy-snout behind – a snout which Julie kissed lovingly and repeatedly. Maybe I would have warmed to him more if I had memories of holding his apple-sized belly in my palm, interlacing my fingers between his tiny hooves, listening to his baby-sized snuffs while he nuzzled against my chest. But I didn't have the pleasure. When I first came nose-to-snout with my porcine nephew, he was already a 200-pound, honking, snorting, beast-borne-of-the-devil, complete with dripping nostrils and an underbite of sharp beige teeth. Now, I love animals to the point where I’ll sob if the horse falls over in a

Feb 21 Two nights in a row, a cockroach has appeared, happy-go-lucky, just dangling his antennae out on top of my mirror above the sink. The first time I saw him, I swatted at him with my lime green fly swatter. I could tell I just knocked him off his perch and didn’t kill him. But when I saw him in exactly the same place the next day – at the right-hand edge, facing north, just like before - I couldn’t believe it. Twiddling his little scrawny hands as if coating himself with sun tan lotion on a glorious day at the beach. I swatted him again, but I know I just knocked him over. For a second, I got really mad at this obnoxious cockroach, who wouldn’t go away, dodging my swats time and again. Then, as I was walking back to the living room, I realized that that little critter out there is my new roommate. Suddenly my feelings changed. I found myself looking for him in his regular spot when I brushed my teeth to go to bed. If I don’t see him tomorrow when I get home from work, I migh

This is the old version of "A Cockroach in Brooklyn" (read next post for the best blog post  ever/ funniest short story you ever read, etc). I only keep this old tattered version cuz it's  got the one-and-only comment I have ever received on my blog ever. If I delete the post, I delete  the comment, and henceforth, the realization I am truly just existing, non-existent, here on the web. Then I would have to question other things about my existence. I can't do that to my self esteem. Just like the cockroach I couldn't squash, this is the post I can't unpost. Just ignore it. But don't ignore it. My cyber esteem is still shaky at the best of times. I'm not going to beg for a comment or anything, just wondering if one day, my one dream of one other comment, will be fulfilled. If it's you,  and then  you comment, we will be connected forever as cyber esteem giver and cyber esteem receiver.  Just saying. Feb 21 Two nights in a row, a cockr