13 Reasons Why I Shouldn't Be Writing This

1. I'm feeling very hormonal and am bound to lash out at everything and everyone.

2. Amos won't eat today. I seriously want to sell him to the gypsies.

3. It snowed again today. We should be sledding, but instead, I want to eat a loaf of bread and all chocolate that exists and will ever exist.

4. So much bad TV to choose from, I can't even stand it! Hello, Coach Carter and Along Came a Spider!

5. We have reached critical mass with our dirty laundry. I am wearing Phil's britches that must have belonged to an 8-foot clown. I can't even tell I'm wearing them. That's how large the legs are.

6. The fox is still lurking in my neighborhood. Its tail fell off in my yard. I think I need to have a talk with the fox about personal belongings.

7. I should be staring at the mirror again and obsessing over my bloated face and deformed post-baby belly, or perhaps my chin hairs.

8. Billy Blanks is staring at me from the 5-DVD set of Tae Bo, and he's seriously pissed at me.

9. I have a letter in my head ready to be mailed to the lying liars who make Midol Extended Relief for up to 12 Hours.

10. My dining and living rooms have become a jungle gym, complete with tumbling mat. I need to investigate if my gymnastics instructor certificate is up to date. Otherwise, I am running an illegal ring for emaciated Russian girls and 6-month-old babies. Bella Karolyi is pissed.

11. I am below my laughing quotient for the day. My chuckles range outside of the Venn Diagram of the union of A and B.

12. The Jerk Store called, and they're out of me.

13. I need to play Penguin Bowling with the self-starved infant.

Wall is oval, if you want it

Just finished a crazy-fun day of shopping for Amos' first Christmas! He also sat in a highchair at a diner and had his third meal ever of rice cereal. My wee man is growing up. *sniff*

Someone reminded me of great Christmas songs. Here are two of my favorites.




I like to sprinkle a little John Lennon in my coffee. Perhaps "Happy Christmas (War Is Over)", especially great with the wacky Yoko part:


"A Melly melly Chlistmas! And a happy New Yeal! Ret's hope it's a good one, without any feel.
(Wall is oval, if you want it. Wall is oval now.)"










Other than that, "A Fairytale of New York" is a happy, go-lucky tale of old sluts on junk and scumbags and maggots. Ah, Christmas...

The Dawn of Man, Part Two

(This is a continuation of Amos' birth story. Please first read "The Dawn of Man - Part One" if you want to have the whole story.)

Nancy crawled onto the bed and checked me again. It was terribly painful as she inserted her hand and felt my cervix, and I screamed in agony. She said I was fully dilated, no lip of cervix remaining – all clear to push the baby out!

(Amos and me, one week before this moment in time.)

Nancy and Gina helped me to get off the bed. They cleared the floor of the rug and put down lots of towels. They grabbed the birthing stool and had me sit on it. I started pushing. I don't know how to describe it other than pushing is like trying to get the biggest turd (cinderblock is more like it) of your life out of your body. It was crazy to feel someone's head start to descend through my vagina. His head would come down with each push, and then it would slide back up as I eased my muscles. I wasn't entirely comfortable on the stool, so I begged to get back in the water. Nancy seemed reluctant to let me, but I was determined. So, into the water I went. I tried several positions and found that being on my knees, sometimes crossing my legs, was the best position for me. I would hold onto the sides of the aquadoula, pulling myself up and grunting my way through the pushes. I was scared to push because it really was the most painful thing I've ever experienced. At some point, I felt a POP! as I pushed. I didn't know what that was. Phil put on the "Pushing Baby Out" CD that came with our Hypnobabies course. Finally, I was able to concentrate and use my training. The voice on the CD soothed me and somehow brought my wild animal brain back into focus.

I felt Amos' head come down farther and farther with each push. I would hold him there as long as I could to help my vaginal muscles stretch to prevent any tearing. It was the first time I felt like I was in a bit of control over the whole situation, as I held his head inside of me. For some reason, Nancy and Gina disappeared. I guess they figured that my pushing would last long because my laboring had. Well, they were wrong. I felt panicked when I realized that I was about to crown Amos' head and they weren't in the room. I told Phil to go get them. I had to resist the urge to push any further, knowing that otherwise I'd deliver Amos alone. Finally, they came back into the room, and I started to push again. Nancy said, "We have a crowning baby!" I asked if she could see hair, and she wasn't sure since I was in the water. They checked Amos' heart rate as I pushed some more.

For the first time, I heard panic in Nancy's voice. She yelled, "You need to stand up now, Sarah! His heart rate is dropping!" I quickly stood up in the water and Nancy positioned my legs farther apart. "Squat down and push that baby out now!" she said. I held on to whatever was around me – peoples' shoulders or whatever I could grab. I pushed with all of my body and soul, grunting, crying, and feverishly trying to fight through the pain. My memory is foggy about this moment in time. I know that I felt so overwhelmed with the idea that my baby's heart rate was going down, and I had to push through the most intense feeling of pain and fear no matter what. My mothering instinct, I suppose, is what drove me through it.

"Here he is!"

3:42pm, MST.

I looked down, and in a blur, I saw a bloody, small gray body being passed from between my legs to the nurse. She had an oxygen tube for the little gray being. Amos pinked up quickly and looked around the room with his big eyes. Gina passed him to me, after he pooped all over her and the side of the tub. I stood there in the water, and all feelings of shakiness and relief that I had suddenly felt when his body passed out of me now switched over to complete awe. THIS is what it was all about. This is what I was trying to do all this time, I suddenly realized. I just gave birth to the kicking, squirming thing that had been inside me all this time, and here he is. There are no words to describe it. There really aren't.

I know that everyone else was looking at his limp body and being concerned about his breathing and lack of crying. But, I just held him and knew that everything was alright. I told him over and over, "Hello! I'm your momma. Hello, Amos." It was the first time I spoke his name and knew that it applied to a real person now, a little bitty person. Phil and I would grin at each other as I stood there holding his son and leaking blood and whathaveyou into the aquadoula. Nothing else mattered. Amos was here.

Amos' umbilical cord was very long, and it had been loosely around his neck when he was born. I didn't know it at the time, but after his head crowned and came out, Nancy had gently pulled the cord from around his neck. It didn't cause any problems.

I handed Amos to someone and was helped out of the tub. I guess the midwife didn't follow me too well with the bowl, as Phil says that I leaked a bloody trail behind me. I sat on the birthing stool and was given my son again. I held him tightly to my naked body and smiled and talked to him. Nancy said that I had lost more blood than she would have liked, and we needed to get the placenta out. I tried to push it out, but really it was distracting as I held Amos. I didn't care about some placenta. All I wanted to do was hold him.

I pushed and pushed, and finally the placenta came out. Nancy said that it was a bit small but healthy. After the placenta was out, she realized that some of the amniotic sac was still inside of me. She gently guided the tissue out of me as I pushed. With that last push, I was free of the things that had connected my body to Amos. I was still bleeding a bit too much, so Gina the nurse administered a small shot of Pitocin (synthetic oxytocin) to help stop the bleeding. That shot was the only drug or intervention that I received during the entire labor and delivery, and I didn't receive it until all was said and done. Good job, Sarah, I say.

I was guided to the bed, and Amos and I stayed there together. He was so calm and serene. He never really cried, just a whimper here and there. I wasn't worried that he didn't cry, as many waterbirth babies are described as being just the same way. There was activity in the room that I mostly ignored as my son and I stared at each other. Phil and I would talk to him and giggle at each other. "I just did that," I would say, as if "that" is the best word I could come up with to describe the miracle that had happened.

After about an hour, Amos wanted to suckle. We tried to get him latched on but it didn't go so well. I kept trying to get him on the breast, and at some point Nancy asked Phil if he would like to cut the cord. I guess I should add here that the birth center believes in letting the cord stop pulsing and to allow the baby to receive as much blood and nutrition from the placenta as possible, so the placenta had been placed in a bag next to me on the bed. The cord was clamped, and Phil cut it. Amos was weighed with an old-fashioned hanging scale because the digital scale had decided to not work. I liked the idea of Amos hanging in a fabric sling from an old-timey scale. It was yet another moment when his birth was clearly a healthy, natural thing, separate from medical intervention, or at least that's the way I thought of it. He weighed 6 pounds 9 ounces and was 19 ½ inches long.

I was still covered in blood and meconium (that's baby poop), so Amos was handed to Phil as I went to the bathroom to enjoy the herbal bath that Gina had prepared for me. For about twenty minutes, I soaked and relaxed. I was struck by the idea that I was alone, truly alone, for the first time in ten months. It wasn't a tragic thought, just an interesting one. To this day, I haven't felt like I'm empty just because Amos isn't inside me anymore.

I came back to the room to find Amos clean and dressed. We started the breastfeeding again, and I chatted a lot with the ladies as they continued to clean up the room. It was a big task to clean up the mayhem I had left behind. I thanked them very sincerely for helping me through the last 12 hours. Nancy told me that Amos had indeed been in the correct position for birth all the time, so my back labor was caused by my previous back injury, not by Amos' position. Nancy also said that I was such an easy patient, one of the best she's ever had, not like "so many other new mothers." Really? "You've GOT to be kidding," I thought. Apparently, all the time that I was in my head and suffering through pain, they had observed a calm and collected woman who was using everything she had to concentrate and get the job done. I wasn't a screamer and I never freaked out, and it impressed the staff considerably. I try to remember that when I think about all of those hours of labor. All in all, it was 15 ½ hours of contractions and trying to get through the intense pain of back labor. If it hadn't been for my water breaking so early and the back labor, I know I would have done even better.

There was a short time when the staff left the room, and Phil and I were alone with Amos for the first time. We stared at him, and then at each other. I tearily looked at Phil, feeling so much for him as I held our child. Phil had tears in his eyes as we gazed at each other. It was the first time I've ever seen Phil cry in all of the 14 years we've been together. I can't even type this without crying.

Whew. So…

Nancy had checked my vagina just before my bath to see if I had any tears. There was too much blood to tell, but she thought I only had "skidmarks" and "road rash." Now that I was clean, she checked again. I had some tears that she thought needed stitches, so we headed to the exam room. I should add that my ability to walk was greatly hindered. I was weak from the ordeal, from fatigue, and from blood loss. Taking each step through the halls was slow going. Before Nancy stitched me, I asked her to allow me to start my self-anesthesia. It worked really well, and throughout the procedure I only felt one tinge of pain when she poked me with a needle. I felt every stitch being applied and pulled, but never any pain. The lidocaine shot helped, but my own self control was very strong.

It was taking quite some time for Nancy to do the stitches. She called Gina over and said, "Look at this. I've never seen this before." Now, whenever a medical professional says that about you during an exam, it's enough to warrant a bit of worry. Apparently, that POP! I had felt during the pushing stage was the moment when I had torn my hymenal ring in half. Women have a hymen that is normally broken during the first time they have sex or some other activity, and there is a hymenal ring that holds it in place. The ring remains throughout your life. Mine is apparently thick, so thick that Amos' big head was too much for it to handle. Nancy decided that it would have to be stitched as it wouldn't heal properly on its own. The hymenal ring can tear during birth, but not normally the way that mine had. So, there you go. I'm a medical oddity.

I had a few other tears, and Nancy said I had about 5 – 6 stitches in total. I think if I had been allowed to push in the water instead of standing up to deliver Amos, I wouldn't have as many tears. But, so it goes.

We stayed at the birth center about 5 or 6 hours past the time Amos was born. Phil loaded up the car while I was slowly helped to the car with Nancy and Gina's help. Amos had been delicately (although awkwardly) loaded into his carseat, and off we went.

It was 8 or 9pm, dark, and so calm in the world as we rolled through Denver and brought Amos home for the first time. He was born on the longest day of the year, on a day with record high heat. It was also the longest and hardest day of my life, yet I know that when I look back as we celebrate Amos' birthday each year, I will remember it as the best day of my life as well. He and I both rose to the challenge. I won't mind the battle scars that remain. I wear them with pride, because I brought a wonderful new life into the world, even if there were a few casualties along the way.

Amos' at Mountain Midwifery Center in his coming home outfit, a monkey onesie and hat.

Amos' first night at home with a very tired (and bloated) Mama.

++++++++++++++++++++++

I just wanted to add (because obviously this isn't long enough...)

I receive a lot of comments from other women that seem to indicate that they feel inferior or they feel guilty in some way because they had epidurals, a hospital birth, weren't able to have a natural birth, etc, ad nauseum. PLEASE stop thinking this way. No matter how you had your child, the fact is: your baby is here, and your baby is beautiful. Whatever route you had to take does not diminish your accomplishments as a mother.

Sometimes I refrain from telling my story because it seems to make me the most hated mother in the room. Other women do not seem to want to hear that I had a natural, drug-free birth, and I've become familiar with a certain glare coming from these women that indicates that I should just shut the hell up about my hippie way of squatting a baby in the woods. They neglect to notice that despite these choices, I had troubles along the way. My back was KILLING me. I threw up the entire time. I was dehydrated and probably should have accepted the IV. The pain was real and very intense. But, in the end, just like you, I have a beautiful baby. We mothers all end up here one way or another, and my story is not more important or greater than yours.

My midwife lent me a book that greatly helped me along my journey. I highly recommend Ina May Gaskin's book, Ina May's Guide to Childbirth. She is a pioneer for our time, and a champion of women's rights. There were very specific passages in this book that helped me during my labor. For example: one woman imagined the word "open" and focused that idea on her birth canal. She imagined it was very open and wide, and the midwife witnessed this mother actually open up her birth canal as she did this. I tried this visual technique when Amos was crowning. I feel it helped.

Those of you lucky enough to live in the Tennessee area can visit Ina May Gaskin and have her or her associates as your midwife.

I also used Hypnobabies hypnosis for childbirth. Phil and I spent five weeks in classes learning this technique from a nurse/doula. The techniques helped, especially in teaching me to be loose and limber instead of tensing up and yelling.

If I have another child, I will choose the same birth center and use Hypnobabies again. I will also consider lots of exercises to strengthen my ding dang back, and perhaps look into acupuncture for lower back injuries.

I hope that my story has helped others in some way, but mostly I want to pass this memory along to my son so that he may know the tremendous love and dedication his mother and father had for him during his birth.

Second day home.

The Dawn of Man, Part One

At the end of this week, Amos will be six-months-old. I felt it fitting to post his birth story today. It blows my mind that I went through this so many months ago. Just last night as I was taking care of the little man while Phil was out doing his comedy thang, I began to cry. I remembered what it was like to feel barren and sad when our efforts to make a baby weren't working. And yet, here he is, the fruit of our loins, with the lights of the Christmas tree twinkling in his eyes.

For those not in the know, I had a natural, drug-free waterbirth with a midwife at a birth center (the only free-standing birth center in Colorado). Phil and I studied Hypnobabies, which is hypnosis for childbirth. I know there are a LOT of details in this, so I'm being nice to you by breaking it up into two parts (part two will be posted tomorrow). I wrote this for Amos. I don't know much about my own birth, and I think it's important for him to read it one day when he's older. Everyone's birth is a miracle... but Amos' birth was even more miracle-y (or so I say).

Without further ado, I give you the epic long journey that is known as the birthday of Amos Russell Porter.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Birth Story of Amos Russell Porter – Born June 21, 2007, 3:42pm

Amos' due date was June 19, but there was no sign of him yet. I felt confident that I had at least a few more days to go. We thought that Amos would be here on Thursday or Friday at the earliest. Well, he chose Thursday. He listens to his parents very well.

I remember that I felt a spurt of energy the morning of the 19^th – a short-lived "nesting instinct." Phil feels a bit shortchanged that it only lasted for a little while, as I didn't use it to clean the house. I felt an intense need to clean the bathroom at 5am, but Phil talked me out of it. I knew that if this was indeed my nesting instinct, I needed to save up my energy for what was to come. The night of the 19^th, I had felt a bit off somehow. I thought maybe that was yet another sign of pending calamity. Amos had been kicking and squirming all day, much more than usual.

The morning of June 20, I started feeling contractions – real contractions. We timed them and then they faded out. I threw up when I tried to brush my teeth. Luckily, we had an appointment with Tracy Ryan, our midwife. She checked my cervix for the first time ever in my pregnancy. I was 1 cm dilated, 50% effaced, and -1 station. All good signs, but I had hoped for better dilation. Tracy also said that my cervix was facing posterior, so she moved my cervix forward while she checked me with her fingers. This was not a very comfortable thing to feel, as no one had ever moved my cervix anywhere before. In fact, my cervix was pretty content right where it was.

Amos continued to kick and squirm with fury. We did a little shopping later that day, and all seemed well. Phil and I took a walk late at night to get some wine, as prescribed by the midwife. We stopped and sat on a bench for awhile on 32^nd Ave in front of the shops, and two of our neighbors walked by. We chatted for awhile, and then headed home. I remember still feeling a bit out of sorts.

At 11:30pm, I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed. I bent over the sink to wash my face, and then I "peed" myself. There was no distinctive POP! – just a gush of fluid. I stood there in shock as liquid dripped out of me and onto the bathroom rug. It finally dawned on me what had happened – my water broke, so I sat on the toilet and yelled for Phil. We both stared at each other in bewilderment as we realized, yes, this is it! I lost my mucous plug in the bathroom, and we checked it out in combined awe and disgust. Little did we know, looking at a gooey mucous plug was going to be the least uncomfortable thing we saw in the next 24 hours. I have a feeling that squirmy Amos broke my water.

Within half an hour at midnight and the start of the solstice (the longest day of the year), the contractions started. They came on strong, and it took all of my concentration to breathe through them. We timed them, called the midwife, and tried to get some rest. It was impossible to sleep with the pain. Try as I might, I couldn't overcome the sensation. My lower back was hurting a great deal, more than I had expected. The contractions in the lower front were quite manageable, but not that darn lower back pain. Laying down was excruciating. I would get "crazy legs" because I didn't have anything to brace my legs on. So, I had to be upright or bent over in order to get through the contractions. I finally understood what people meant when they said that laboring through contractions after your water breaks makes it even harder. There is no cushion to deflect the contractions, so the pain is that much more intense.

I continued to have contractions coming closer and closer together. We went from 8 – 9 minutes apart to 2 – 3 minutes by 3 am. We thought the labor was going very quickly, so we agreed with the midwife to meet at the birth center. Phil and I quickly gathered up our stuff (forgetting the brownies we had baked for the birth center folks) and got into the car. I had to sit in the back seat, up on my knees facing the back. I hugged the back of the seat as I breathed through each contraction. We were so thankful that there was barely any traffic in the middle of the night.

Did I mention that I was wearing an adult diaper to absorb my leaks? Oh, Dignity, how you left me.

So, we meet at Mountain Midwifery Birth Center, where I have to breathe every few minutes through a contraction. I was using my deep "ahh" breathing, which means I was saying "ahh" in a low tone to direct the energy downward to my uterus. It helped to do something. Soon, the contractions went from painful to excruciating as my lower back started to give out even more. Damn that previous back injury! Nancy, the backup midwife, checked my cervix. Only 3 cm! ARGH! We thought I was so much farther along. I got the usual "first-time moms tend to take longer because those parts have never done this before" speech. It didn't make me feel better.

I continued to labor in the big birthing room. Getting on the bed was still out of the question, so I stayed on the birth ball, rocking back and forth as I rested my head and arms on a pillow on the bed. My back pain was becoming more intense, so much so that I didn't care about the contractions in the front. I only wanted relief from the back pain. Certain positions on the birth ball helped, as did standing and leaning on Phil. We walked around every once in awhile, and sometimes I labored on the toilet (which is supposed to be the best position as it encourages the right muscles/pushing). That was hard to do. The contractions were much more intense on the toilet, but the midwife loved it. "Oh, that's good! We're making progress!" I threw up at some point, which caused Nancy to give me a big, approving nod. "Yes! A very good sign!"

Time passed. I had little concept of time. Nancy checked me again. Only 4-5 cm! ARGH! I couldn't get into the aquadoula until I was around 5-6 cm, so I tried to "will" my way to at least that diameter. After many contractions, I insisted on getting into the water. I told Nancy, "Come on, you know I'm at 5cm at least." She gave in. Sweet relief – sort of. Once I was in the water, I had to learn new positions all over again to find the right ones that would relieve my back pain. Honestly, I think I would have enjoyed things so much more if it hadn't been for the back pain.

I remember that Phil asked me if I wanted to try some of the other hypnobirthing techniques we had learned. I told him, "Honestly, I can't concentrate on anything other than my breathing. I don't think I can keep my focus on my self-anesthesia. I'm too tired to do anything else." It was disappointing, but I knew from the way I was feeling in my back, there was no way I was going to trick myself into feeling no pain. I had never practiced anesthetizing my lower back because I didn't know I would need to. All through my pregnancy, my lower back didn't bother me too much, so I had developed a false sense of security that it wouldn't go out on me during the labor. Wrong, Sarah. So wrong.

From this point on, I was naked. I stayed in the water for some amount of time. My legs started to shake and shimmy from the pain, fatigue, and rushes of hormones. So many people staring at me naked in the water, but I didn't care. Nancy talked me into going to the bathroom to have those awful contractions on the toilet ("Oh, we're making progress!"). Sometime in the night/morning, other people arrived. I was helped by Gina, the nurse, and Paige, a student midwife. They were very comforting. I labored on the toilet some more, despite my wish not to. I realized that I chose this path, and if more painful contractions were the way to get this baby out, then I had to do it. Thankfully, Amos' heart rate stayed strong and true throughout my labor. The ladies all marveled at how well Amos was doing. What about me? How about relieving that nasty back pain, huh?

My bashfulness subsided. I was naked everywhere. I walked around the birth center naked. I hung onto to peoples' necks when I had contractions – naked. It was very liberating. I had tried to use my hypnosis techniques throughout the night, but mostly it was the breathing techniques that got me through it. Again, the back pain was too much for me to psychologically control with my self-anesthesia. I had some relief when Phil helped me to use the belly lift technique I had learned in my Hypnobabies course. We were sure that Amos was in the right position, so he wasn't the cause of my back labor. It was just that I had such a weak back from previous injuries. My "ahh" breathing had changed from controlled sounds to deeper, animalistic grunts. Things were progressing. Whenever I would have a particularly difficult contraction, I felt like such a savage, grunting and letting out my deep breathing moans. This sent the midwife into a big tizzy. "Oh, THAT was a really good one!"

Nancy checked my cervix again. This was the only time I was able to shut myself off with my anesthesia and not feel it when she inserted her hand and fingers. I was at 7cm. I labored a bit longer, starting to feel overwhelmed with the pain and the fatigue. Nancy had a talk with me. She said that she was worried that I was stalling out, that I was succumbing to fatigue. I had thrown up many times since I arrived (all caught by Phil in the wastebasket), and I couldn't keep food or liquids down. I hadn't slept since Wednesday morning, and it was now Thursday afternoon. She said at the very least, she wanted to get an IV in me to replenish my fluids. If I couldn't continue, then she would have to transfer me to Swedish Medical Hospital a block away. "So many of our first-timers have been transferred lately…" I gave her a stern look. I was NOT going to get transferred. I was staying put. I also refused the IV. I was going to have this natural labor without drugs or intervention, and no one was going to change my mind. Looking back, I suppose the IV would have been okay, but after laboring that way for over 12 hours, I wasn't going to change my mind. I asked for more time and said I would try to rest on the bed, even though I had so much trouble there before.

So, she respected my wishes. I laid on the bed and turned onto my right side to try to position Amos from his usual back-toward-my-left-side position to having his back toward my belly button. The contractions were excruciating on the bed and I had my "crazy legs" thing going on again, but I did my best to breathe through them. Eventually, I fell asleep. I don't know how, but I did. Phil sat next to me in the rocking chair. Whenever a contraction would hit, I would growl and grunt with low tones, and Phil would open his eyes to support me through it. At some point, I felt there was a lull in the contractions. I know now that I had hit transition and was probably fully dilated at 10cm. Many mothers get a bit of a rest before the pushing stage.

I felt like I slept for hours, but Phil says it was only a few minutes at a time. Suddenly I woke up with an incredible pain and urge I hadn't felt before. My noises changed, and Phil looked at me with an eyebrow raised, to which I responded by projectile vomiting all over him. I growled at Phil, "I have to push! Get Nancy!" He ran to get the ladies, and I squirmed on the bed as I fought the urge. Nancy crawled onto the bed and checked me again. It was terribly painful as she inserted her hand and felt my cervix, and I screamed in agony. She said I was fully dilated, no lip of cervix remaining – all clear to push the baby out!

(part two posted tomorrow)

Pygmy flash cards

The previous blog referred to another blog that I wrote a long time ago (back in the dark ages). So, for reference and hilarity, here it is.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

July 14, 2006

As is my way, whenever I come across something amusing, I like to share it with you. Today I received a SPAM from Flora Martinez. I didn't open it, although I was very tempted to do so. The title of Flora's e-mail:

pygmy flash card

Phil and I have been chuckling over this, discussing how much we would love to have a set of pygmy flash cards to help us identify and keep up with the various pygmy people.

"Here. Who is this?" *holds up card of naked pygmy woman with saggy tits*

"Uh. Juujumame. From the African tribe of BaBenzele?"

"Correct!"

Just another day in the Porter household...

The longest and funniest zombie discussion ever

I'm reaching back into the archives again. Here is a crazy conversation that occurred Aug. 8, 2006 between my husband Phil Porter (comedian extraordinaire) and my goofy bosom chum, Amanda. Keep reading, as it just becomes one hilarious punchline after another. They are far too entertaining. They are, indeed, too sexy for IM.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sarah: I'm going to take a shower. Here's Phil if you need him.

Phil: Um, I'm not sure I'd be comfortable chatting with Amanda's corpse.

Amanda: Oh, it's okay. Just ignore my tongue hanging out of the side of my mouth and the foam coming from it.

Phil: Wait, are you the living dead?

Phil: Because I'm not going to let you eat my brain.

Amanda: The post-death flatulence stage has already passed, now I'm just convulsing.

Amanda: I don't eat smart brains. I prey on stupid people from MySpace. Why do you think I'm seeking out my old high school classmates?

Phil: I didn't realize zombies were so picky.

P: I thought it was just, "Brains! Brains! Brains!"

A: Smart brains are not tender and mushy like dumb brains. They're rough from over-use and tend to be bitter.

P: That makes sense.

P: In fact, it kind of makes too much sense.

P: Like you've thought about it before.

A: It really does. How do you think I figured out how smart brains taste? I ate some before, and now everything makes sense, but I have a bad taste in my mouth.

P: Did you stir fry it with some garlic?

P: Because garlic is delicious, but it certainly has a negative affect on your breath quality.

A: No, see. My brain is dumb, which is why the zombie who ate my brain chose me, of course. I didn't think of it.

P: Sadly enough, that makes perfect sense.

P: On that topic, have you seen "Sean of the Dead"? It's a very funny zombie movie.

A: I definitely don't want bad breath. I might scare people away, since just being a zombie trying to eat their brains won't do it.

A: No, I haven't.

P: I have a theory that if we ever did get into a Night of the Living Dead zombie type situation,

P: that would definitely erase our credit records.

P: Pretty much my biggest hope for financial security is some sort of flesh-eating humans.

A: Um, yeah. I think there's a clause in Fico or somewhere that your credit score resets if you're eaten by a zombie.

A: But it has to be on a Sunday after midnight pacific time.

P: Or an alien attack. That should do it, too.

P: So my entire future is based on either the Earth being attacked by UFOs

P: or people mutating into zombies.

A: What if the alien stole your credit card and went on a shopping spree?

P: I think the odds are on my side.

P: Damn those aliens!

P: I'm pretty sure in that case, I'm only responsible for like $50 of their charges, though.

A: Oh, then that makes it better.

P: Well, except that they charged the ingredients for their evil death ray on my card.

P: That would weigh heavily on my conscience.

A: But what if that was the $50 they spent to buy explosives and blow up the planet?

A: yeah, exactly.

P: But if they tried to buy their explosives and the card was rejected because there wasn't enough credit available.

P: I'd be the hero then.

A: And the president has been secretly viewing your credit charge history to see if you're a terrorist spy. A death ray charge would look suspicious. It's a good thing you had the foresight to spend unwisely all of these years. Your bad credit decisions have saved you from jail time.

P: Well, that's what I tell the government.

P: And the people who keep calling trying to get money.

A: "I'm just screwing up my own credit before someone else does!"

P: And the president, of course.

P: That's pretty clever, actually.

P: It's a pre-emptive strike against identity theft people.

A: lol

A: You could just pretend to be an identity thief when the bill collectors call.

P: I do try to talk with a Nigerian accent.

A: Hey, this is Bill. I stole Phil's identity to buy an Xbox and some beer. I gave it back to him now, but I'd like for you to relieve him of all liability for those charges.

P: Yeah, except I'd have to call myself Dr. Ngimbi or something.

A: Hey, this is Zortak from the planet Mentos. I bought butt plugs and a laser gun on Phil's account. If you don't release his obligation to pay these debts, I'll probe you.

P: Hang on, I need to go charge a bunch of crap I don't really need. For the sake of humanity.

P: I wonder what channel QVC is here.

P: Maybe I could get some Ron Popeil shit.

P: I could save the world by fighting off the aliens with the Salad Shooter.

A: Hi, this is Dr. Ngimbi from the pygmy tribe of clicky-clicky-click Africa. You may remember me from the 3rd edition flash cards set. I stole Phil's identity to sneak my way into your country illegally using his bank account and life savings.

A: HAHA, salad shooter.

P: LOL.

A: You know how those martians are afraid of vegetables.

P: Oh, yeah, Martians hate greens.

P: I think they like fried foods, though, but who doesn't?

P: I could burn the aliens with a George Foreman grill.

A: Take brussels sprouts, you lard-ridden alien!

A: *whoosh*

P: Eat broccoli, bastard!

A: Why don't you probe yourself with this asparagus, you disgusting pervert!

P: Hey, wait, why would someone from the planet Mentos be buying butt plugs?

P: That seems a bit unlikely.

A: Well, they want to drink Pepsi, but they want the explosion to shoot from their nostrils, not their asses.

A: It will be their secret weapon to take over our planet.

A: I just read your George Foreman comment, ahaha.

A: That would be pretty convenient. You could cook them on both sides without having to flip them. Genius.

P: Especially if the aliens are sort of gelatinous rather than bipedal or whatnot.

P: A gelatinous alien wouldn't last for more than a minute in the Foreman grill.

P: Although a hamburger turns out deliciously!

P: Actually, I've never eaten any Foreman Food, so I'm just guessing.

A: Well, maybe they will be mutant cows from Mars.

P: Wow, how weird would that be!

P: Although cows are kind of cute in their own way, so maybe that would be a nice way to be invaded.

P: A bunch of Martian cows standing in a field grazing wouldn't be all that horrifying.

A: I saw a cow shitting in a field when I was riding the bus once. It was the grossest thing ever. And we were travelling like 2 mph because it was a dirt road.

P: My uncle had a dairy farm, so I've been very close to shitting cows.

P: You kind of get used to it after a while.

A: What kind of life did you live? Poor thing. You're eating Cocoa Puffs, you look outside to see the beautiful day... "Oh, look! A rainbow. A shitting bow. Two dogs humping. A dead bird. Ah, nothing exciting."

A: A shitting bow?

A: lmao!

P: Shitting Bow was a famous native American warrior.

A: That would be a nice decoration for a gag gift.

A: HAHAHA.

A: Yeah, he flung shit at the enemies.

P: Thanks for the new plates. I especially enjoyed them being wrapped in a shitting bow.

P: You're thinking of the famous Chinese warrior: Hu Flung Poo.

A: "Haha, white man! Here is some shit from my papoose's deer-skinned diaper!"

A: HAHAHA Hu Flung Poo.

A: Hu flung poo. I don't know, who flung poo? No, Hu did!

P: Oh, yes, Hu definitely flung poo.

P: Also, my parents never bought us Cocoa Puffs.

A: I just cried a little from my laughter.

P: Somehow they thought letting us spend the summer scooping up cow pies was better.

P: Not for breakfast, though.

P: I hope I didn't give the wrong impression.

A: hahaha.

A: Well, you wouldn't fully appreciate the milk for your cereal until you scooped up the feces from the animal who provided you with that milk.

A: I hope you weren't breastfeed.

A: -d

A: or e.

P: Would you prefer that I had suckled at the teat of a cow?

P: Sort of like Romulus and Reamus, but with a cow instead of a wolf.

P: And I didn't found Rome.

A: Well, unless you want to scoop up your mother's poo also, sure.

P: See, now that's just icky.

A: exactly.

A: I'm just going on your parents' child-rearing philosophy.

P: Although I guess if my mother was crapping in the barn, I would have cleaned up after her.

A: You said it. I didn't.

A: haha, maybe.

P: OK, so here's how you imagine my life:

P: I was raised on the teat of a cow.

P: My mother crapped in a barn, and I had to clean it up.

P: We were constantly fighting off alien and/or zombie attacks.

A: The same cow who was shitting in the field later, which is why it didn't bother you.

P: I've seen cows shit while they were being milked.

P: It's never safe to be around a cow's ass. That's my point.

A: Well, who's ass is it safe to be around, really?

A: whose, too.

P: Yeah, good point.

P: So stay away from zombies, aliens, and asses.

A: If I had the choice of an ass to stand behind, it would be the alien wearing the butt plug.

P: Wow, you've really planned ahead!

A: Well, you never know when you might find yourself in that situation.

A: A line of creatures, asses all facing you, holding hands like you're playing Red Rover. Only you have to choose which ass you have to run toward...

A: Your mother's, a cow's, an alien's, or a zombie's.

P: I'd pick the zombies.

P: I think brains would cause constipation.

A: Yeah, that might work. They took their last shit at death.

P: It also might be difficult to identify exactly which part of the alien is the ass.

A: Of course, their rotting ass flesh could be revolting.

P: Rotting ass flesh, you say.

A: I could pick my mother, though. I've smelled her farts for a lifetime, and they never killed me.

A: She did have her gall bladder removed, though. Hmm.

P: Lacking in gall does not necessarily mean lacking in stink.

P: Although she might not have the gall to fart in public.

A: No, on the contrary. It makes the stink worse.

A: Now, when she farts, it's like it had less time to warn her of its arrival, so she acts surprised.

A: I guess the gall bladder is a sensory organ.

A: "Hey, you're going to fart in 3.2 seconds. Prepare the sphincter!"

A: did I misspell that?

P: No, "that" is how "that" is spelled.

P: You were also correct on sphincter.

A: Whoa, thanks.

P: When in doubt, I recommend www.m-w.com.

A: My rotting zombie brain is lacking in spelling skills.

P: It's the dictionary!

A: Yeah, I try that. But I always forget the website address. Is it m-q.com? m-f.com? shit!

P: As a zombie, the odds of getting into a spelling bee are very slim, so that part of the brain tends to shut down.

P: m-f.com can only tell you how to spell dirty words.

A: I could eat the brains of the other contestants.

A: But that might disqualify me.

P: But it would let you absorb their spellng knowledge.

A: HAHAHA.

P: Sarah just came out of the shower.

P: She wants to know why you didn't go to bed yet.

A: spellng, that sucks.

A: Because Phil won't let me eat his brain.

P: Oh, well, Sarah says you should go to bed.

P: It would be too expensive for me to overnight my brain to Texas for you.

P: And three-day delivery would not maintain the freshness you desire.

A: She must have read our conversation, then. I do need sleep.

P: OK. You shuffle off to slumberland then.

A: Well, try not to use it much for now. I'll try to make a special trip to get it later on.

P: OK. I won't think too much this weekend.

A: I think Sarah is trying to get rid of me. I'm okay with that.

P: Actually, she's planning how to eat your brain.

A: I don't know that eating an already-dead zombie brain would be very good.

P: Except for creating new zombies maybe.

P: All right, well I'll let you shamble off to bed now.

A: is it just me, or does Sarah's picture on Yahoo look fuzzy?

P: It's just you. You've been huffing too much paint.

P: I'm going to sign off now so you can go to bed.

P: I think we're going to eat some brains then retire for the evening also.

A: alrighty.

P: G-night.

A: thanks for entertaining me, g-night!

Long and longer

This is the first time I am participating in PhotoHunt because I couldn't resist the "long" theme. Lotus posted a pic of herself from high school, and ding dang!, if we didn't look similar with all that hair and such.

I mainly just wanted to show one more reason why Lotus and I were apparently twins born in separate years. So, I give you my "long" hair pic when I was but a nubile 18-year-old with dreams of sugarplums dancing in my head. This was senior year, 1992, in a small town in Texas.

Ah, to be young again (except without all the high school angst).

Sweet little udders and cow-milking outfits

Everyone should write a blog. Why? For pure entertainment value when observing the Google search terms that lead people to your blog. You don't need to write a decent blog in order to gain hours and hours of laughter. No. Just throw in a few words each day, and watch the unschooled and ignorant arrive in droves. Who needs television when there is Google?

Are you familiar with Google? No? Are you Amish? Google provides a fantastic service with its search engine. Not only do they allow the masses to search for "beef stew fart" and "dog teets," but Google also provides tools for wee bloggers such as myself to sit back and laugh as we analyze the incredible avenues that people use to find their way to raucous sites such as Imaginary Binky.

Observe.


In the short time that I have been analyzing the traffic on my website, a clear pattern has emerged. People want gang signs. They don't just want any gang $ign$, no. They want A LOT of gang $ign$. The number one search, in various incarnations, leading to my website is the yearning to learn gang $ign$. Yes, America. I, a 34-year-old new mother and wife to a stand-up comedian, am the world's authority on gang $ign$. Don't be fooled by my facade. It's true that at times, you can find me pimpin' the hoes and shooting holes in trunks to allow the bitches to breathe. I wear my colors, and my body is splashed with ink to show my pride. True dat. Word to Amos' mother.

I feel the need to help the people who have wandered upon my perch in space. I know that they are not learning the lessons in life from me that they were yearning for, such as "Anyone tried anti-std lube?" Well, I don't know about that, young buck. But, if there's anyone who can find the answer for you, Google is your man. I can, however, help a few souls who have wandered here.

Such as,

"Can you wear two condoms?"
Phil answered this for you here in the comments section. Sure, you can wear two condoms (as we've learned Jon Bon Jovi will do if you kindly ask), but it isn't a good idea. The friction of the two condoms is likely to cause breakage. Thank you, Phil Porter, for your genius and valuable knowledge.


"Wear a condom all day"
I wouldn't suggest it, young one. There will be chafing. Besides, I think it would take a great deal of effort to keep the item on your unit while not aroused.


"Can siblings have different earlobes?"
Well, yes, fervent searcher. Siblings CAN have different earlobes. It all depends on your lineage. I have attached earlobes, and Phil's are detached. It looks like Amos has detached lobes. Other progeny of ours could end up with attached lobes. It's all about the genes, my man.


"Shatner fat"
Yes. Yes, he is.


"Smelly vagina while pregnant" (not to be confused with another search, "smelly vagina hole")
Well, yes. It is possible to have more odor than normal during pregnancy. I did (horrors!), and I found the need to trim the shrubs with care in order to reduce this ghastly phenomenon. I suggest you invest in a good pair of scissors and/or razor and a frequent bathing.


"Should I eat Philly cheesesteak while pregnant"
If you can stand the onions, and if anyone can stand to watch you eat it, then yes. Eat your cheesesteak with the voracious appetite only a pregnant woman can have. However, I couldn't get near Phil for more than a day because he ate a cheesesteak while I was pregnant. Be warned, preggies. Be warned.


"I'd like to know how to write"