tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13345871015288678982011-10-06T07:25:51.936-04:00Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.comBlogger191100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-65064361483560326862011-07-23T17:57:00.000-04:002011-07-23T17:57:56.733-04:00

Recently (as in yesterday) my daughter decided that the joking amongst us adults needed her input and needed it badly. And loudly. And obnoxiously. But I digress. Myself, my father, my mother and my Mister and my eldest daughter were all in the car. My eldest then, desperate for her moment, began screaming at the top of her lungs about how I am CHEATING on my Mister with Misty's father. To my

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-43336077951162673372011-07-16T22:09:00.000-04:002011-07-16T22:09:42.317-04:00

[21:51] saintsstar25: hey there [21:51] Nambrosia: hi [21:51] Nambrosia: who are u? [21:51] saintsstar25: i saw you online on my buddy list...24/f here..... [21:52] saintsstar25: i.d.k but have we ever talk'd before?? [21:52] Nambrosia: i have no clue [21:52] Nambrosia: maybe long long ago in a galaxy far far away [21:53] saintsstar25: lollllll oops sorry... i can be pretty blonde at times o:)

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-91730448448062354142011-07-07T00:53:00.000-04:002011-07-07T00:53:11.196-04:00

I sometimes feel as if you can't possibly link Real Life to the Interwebs. Maybe it's because I've been doing this internet thing since the ages of Dial Up and a/s/l? but I'm having difficulty merging the two. It almost kind of feels like introducing your family to your fuck buddy (not that I HAVE one of those) and, barring you having the most open family ever, then that fuck buddy ends up

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-5216240573867856412011-06-10T23:27:00.000-04:002011-06-10T23:27:24.799-04:00

Don't you just LOVE it when some chick calls up your phone & is all "who's this?" That's some fucking balls right there, to DEMAND I identify myself. Shit, soldiers are trained to only reveal their rank and number whilst being tortured by the enemy and you straight demand my info. And you answer this demand, because you were actually raised right and are NOT a fucking soldier and therefore not

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-77945887863390032872011-06-09T10:33:00.000-04:002011-06-09T10:33:11.655-04:00

The Faithful Cheating Whore...it sounds like an oxymoron perhaps, but we exist. Let me explain what I mean by Faithful Cheating Whore. We're the women who are actually, shockingly, defiantly...faithful. We don't cheat. We don't 'step-out', we don't play games with other peoples hearts. Perhaps this is a fatal flaw that we have...because us Faithful Cheating Whores are always assumed to be real

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-11235294489375020782011-01-08T12:46:00.000-05:002011-01-08T12:46:29.533-05:00

My child steals. From handicapped people. People who are legally blind, use a wheelchair, have MS and a brain tumor. At least she picks her marks well. Fuck my life. I went to the BF's house for New Years Eve and because it fell on my day with The Face her father flat out refused to take her. Right. Because I've had her every single New Years Eve for 8 years. Of course it's so my day. But, I

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-20500071145413704882010-12-08T22:10:00.000-05:002010-12-08T22:10:19.301-05:00

So, things have actually been going pretty well in my life as of late, which makes coming up with witty snarky shit a tad difficult. I've actually been keeping some sort of journal (either by hand or by electronic means) ever since I was 13. I still have the physical books of my ridiculously poor 13-year-old handwriting all the way until I became pregnant for The Face. I'm not entirely certain

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-36572687697992343872010-11-18T10:03:00.000-05:002010-11-18T10:03:24.952-05:00

I am so sick and tired of being walked all over. Truly. Utterly. I'm fucking sick of it. Baby Daddy the Second is driving me out of my god forsaken mind, peoples. I have appointments for Misty that, y'know, are kind of important. Because of his selfishness I have spent my whole week rescheduling EVERYTHING to accommodate HIS happy ass and I'm getting really sick of it. I'm sorry, my life

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-21176071494714140462010-11-15T09:00:00.005-05:002010-11-18T09:38:21.780-05:00

So little Misty has turned 2 Months as of yesterday and she really is so wonderful. She juuuust is beginning to smile because Mommy did something funny. And by funny I mean at least 5 minutes of making silly faces and sounds for her to crack a smile the minute I look away. LoL.  Delightfully she has Colic now. I spent from 9pm to 4:45AM the other night losing my mind because she wouldn't stop

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-2099703707427108692010-11-02T18:39:00.003-04:002010-11-02T19:05:35.528-04:00

I greatly dislike extremes of weather.I don't want it too hot. I don't want it too cold. I want it to be Fall or Spring...ALL THE FUCKING TIME.It's cold as FUCKALL out lately. I dislike this greatly. I'm going to put in a complaint to the Weather Gods and be all like "look, bitches, this whole extreme weather shit needs to really stop. Honestly. what's that you say? We're heading for another Ice

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-63086721862153599332010-10-25T14:47:00.002-04:002010-10-25T15:24:42.290-04:00

I occasionally write shit. Not just these semi-humorous blog thingies. I write actual story type thingies. (btw, Firefox's spell check believes the word "Thingies" is totally a word. That's frickin awesome) Yes, so I write words on the puter and put them together into some, allegedly, coherent type story line and never ever finish jack shit. Well...I finish it in my HEAD. This does not COUNT, of

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-82259069988607609002010-10-02T15:01:00.004-04:002010-10-02T15:32:56.692-04:00

I fucking LOVE LOVE LOVE October. Love it like the crack, I tells you.Sure, my birthday just HAPPENS to be in October...so THAT makes it a pretty fucking awesome month to begin with but it's also fabulous due to the fact that it is officially the most Fallish month. September you still can get some random hot and cold days that make your innards go kablewy and try to kill you with the Flu of

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-84373754244590794472010-09-30T22:39:00.004-04:002010-09-30T23:28:20.828-04:00

These are planned for the morrow, so everyone hold onto your asses the Apocalypse is a-coming. Whyever do you say that, Miss Sarah? Because. I have plans. I have plans to have a good time. Therefore the Apocalypse, or a zombie attack, or an alien invasion will be going down tomorrow. Whatever it takes to ensure my plans are totally fuckered.It sounds dramatic, but if you knew my life at all you'd

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-38988936720112774592010-09-28T16:56:00.008-04:002010-09-28T17:57:47.624-04:00

I have a very good reason for disappearing. All fucking hell has broken lose in my life. Me and The Hubby called it quits, which was a fabulous Event, let me tell you. Or rather, not. Because it was over the dumbest shit, but when you know it's coming even the dumbest fight can push you over the edge. And once I'm Over the Edge (which reminds me of Over the Hedge, which is an awesome kids movie

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-73036011274821999712010-08-14T09:57:00.000-04:002010-08-14T09:57:36.037-04:00

The Hubby is going to be having surgery soon on his face. He has TMJ and had surgery in December where they removed a chunk of his jaw and then screwed a piece of his rib into his jaw. Everything was fine and dandy until one day he lost half his opening and had massive pain…again. Off to the doctors we go and it turns out that the muscles in his face attached themselves to the screws in his jaw.

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-14588222921943084102010-08-13T12:12:00.000-04:002010-08-13T12:16:31.681-04:00

Sarah is not happy, Fuckers.Shocking, I know. Usually this blog is just chock full of happiness and light and rainbows and puppies and shit. Shut. Up.Have I mentioned that I thoroughly and utterly loathe and despise my Mother? Yeah. I hate that cunt. Side note: I hate my Mum; however, if she ends up dead it is not of my doing...swear. In fact, if she goes forth to an early demise I will be very

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-10134050063589994242010-08-11T13:26:00.000-04:002010-08-13T12:25:36.330-04:00

1. Tying my own shoes. The bending at the waist required to achieve this seemingly innocuous accomplishment is physically impossible in late term pregnancy. Therefore, fuck shoes. This is why god invented slip-ons and flip flops. For fat asses and pregnant bitches. 2. My body. There are bits on me that are squishy that are not supposed to be squishy. There is…god save me…sagging where there is

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-4069152793845862042010-08-07T12:23:00.000-04:002010-08-07T12:25:42.884-04:00

The Face and I were playing mermaids (don’t judge my stay-at-home-mommy schedule damn you) when she gets this look of total horror upon her sweet little face and she gasps “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!!! I think I pooped my pants!” I, of course, am aghast at this announcement. She’s 8 years old for crying out loud, not 2. “I thought it was a fart but I think there’s poop in my undies!!” She then

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334587101528867898.post-80761519529226704572010-07-30T18:09:00.000-04:002010-07-30T18:10:55.501-04:00

The whole “slippery when wet” adage can be twisted and turned until it becomes the proverbial cuntcrack of every perverse joke, however, when it’s your bits and bobbles that are on permanent “waterslide mode” you start to wonder what in holy hell is wrong down there in crotch land. Of course, if it were itchy and needing of a good scratch that hurts so good and kerplops green cottage cheese onto

Nambrosiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10370041422383878404noreply@blogger.com0