Breaking Belly Button News


(December 31, 2012, from Mr Lady Torso Cheif @Schadenfreudette) Images from the scene have started to come in and they are indeed as disturbing as we had feared.  (Warning: these images are of a graphic nature and may not be appropriate for sensitive readers.)

After a busy day of speculation across multiple social media channels, Mr Lady retrieved the object pictured above from the Belly Button.  A resounding "WTF IS THAT?" was heard 'round the internet as theories once thought ridiculous, now seem completely plausible.  "When I first saw the pictures, I thought it was some sort of bug," said Schadenfreudette in between gagging noises. "But clearly it must be some sort of alien antenna. We've got people working on it now."

Mr Lady insists that the object actually appears to be an intact set of stitches, but was unable to explain where they might have come from. There is a remote possibility that Developer has launched a nanotechnology initiative to reconnect the umbilicus.  Mr Lady Worldwide Torso PR is standing by the theory of imminent alien eruption, as it is the more favorable of either scenario.

The internet is welcoming the tiny alien being with open arms, though the yet unnamed life form is trying to keep a low profile.  It has been spotted out and about disguised as Axl Rose and in the company of its pterodactyl posse.  It is also in talks to record a song with R Kelly entitled "Trapped in the Navel while Trapped in the Closet."

 3of3 has provided this illustration of her new "puppy-kitty-sister-brother!!!" and we hope to have a family picture soon.  

Reluctant to comment is Jim Lin, saying only "As long as that's the only orifice excreting alien/stich/nano things, I'm cool. But I'd rather not think about it too much right now."

It is expected that the "alien/stitch/nano thing" will have it's own Twitter account soon. This effort might be led by the team responsible for Bubble Yum Wind Tunnel.  We'll bring you updates as they become available.



Ninth Circle of Hell, AZ – (December 30, 2012) – In what can only be described as a definitive - yet gruesome - display of its true feelings, Mr Lady’s Belly Button spewed forth a significant amount of blood in the early morning hours.  The Belly Button was initially established over 30 years ago as an umbilical cord delivering vital nutrients directly from the original developer of the project, Mr Lady's mother.  The umbilicus was severed soon following completion and delivery,  and the figurative umbilicus was severed approximately 16 years later.  This recent development is widely regarded as a final "FUCK YOU" to the developer, as it was the closest portal by which they were connected, though there is still much speculation.  Until an official cause is released, rumors persist of an imminent alien eruption or the regrowth of Mr Lady's Uterus.  (Uterus could not be reached for comment, but was last seen on the Sarah Lawrence campus, double majoring in Public Policy and Women's Studies with a minor in Drum Circle Leadership.)  We are still awaiting photos from the scene, but witnesses describe it as "totally weird" and "a little unsexy, but just flip over."   

When asked about the possibility of reconstruction efforts, Jim Lin (Ladyparts Liaison and General Manager) was reluctant to confirm details. "The work done in 2010 was really fantastic, but this is a completely different orifice.  If we aren't careful, we'll have lint coming at us like ninja stars and that's not safe for any one."

We'll keep you updated as reports come in from the field.  If you have news regarding this breaking story, please contact Schadenfreudette with Mr Lady Worldwide Torso PR (Formerly "Mr Lady Reproductive Public Relations")


Related News:

Lights Out for Legendary Venue, Mr Lady's Uterus
The last photograph we tried to publish of my post-surgery belly button/demon 
Liz B totally called this demon thing, BTW.   

And then something came out:

That is cloaked in anonymity
But might be a satyr 
Or a sweet belly button demon of mine

And then we made a Pinterest board for it: 

God Used Fire, Brimstone, and Floods. I Use Sally Hanson. Same Effect, Really.

I let my middle son watch me wax the 'stache tonight and I think I may have traumatized him more than the kid I let watch me give birth.

Since the Dad 2.013 Movember team STILL hasn't seen far enough passed their stupid patriarchy to invite the 25th sexiest dad blogger of all time* to join their team, I figured I'd better deforest ye old kisser I leave in a few days for a blog trip with Simple Human. You know, best lip forward and all. 

Aside: Apologies in advance if you follow me on twitter, because my Type A and Squirrel! are about to collide in 140-character intervals. Me, two days, SIMPLE HUMAN. Organized, highly functional, and shiny? Organized and orgasm are almost the same word for a reason, my friends. 

So my son comes waltzing into my bathroom like it's Grand Central Station right after I've applied the first glob of wax on my face because Newton proved that children are physically incapable of coming in right when I've squirted the first bit of toilet bowl cleaner in. Instead they are forced, by powers beyond their comprehension, to wait like a lion in the grass for the most idealically uncomfortable moment to strike - the one in which I am totally helpless to avoid scarring them for the rest of their lives.

At least there aren't tampons involved anymore. 

So he comes in singing Peanut Butter Jelly Time with no shirt on, because, and stops cold. Mom, what the H are you doing? he kind of asks, kind of demands. Glass houses, dancing queen. Glass. Houses. I'm waxing, I explain to him, and he says that he thought I was JOKING all this time but I assure him, oh no, if he's lucky, he'll take after his momma in the facial hair department. He asked if it hurt and I said like a bleep-fo, and he said OOOO, CAN I SEE? and I said yes, because. 

I rip the wax off my lip and he jumps five inches backwards. His whole face went into buttchill-spasms. It. Was. Awesome. 

I don't think anything in the whole entire world will create the deep-rooted respect, admiration, and abject fear of women in a man-child that letting him watch a woman give birth does, but I'm pretty sure that letting them watch a woman wax for a business trip comes in a close, and slightly less awkward in their teen years, second. 

He asked why I would do such a thing to myself, and I told him it was partly to look professional and put together on my trip, but mostly so that I could play with all the hairs sticking straight up in the wax, and then we had our Biore Pore Strip on Crack moment together.

Normal Rockwell would have killed to be a fly on my bathroom wall today, I tell you what. 

Standards are for People Without Blogs

The problem with anyone being able to film anything is than anyone will film anything, and everyone will watch anything, and the next thing you know we're all singing Gangham Style because we have been freaking assimilated

YouTube is banned in my house, mostly because of the racists, cat videos, and Johnny Knoxville. I don't want my kids accidentally watching 8-bit dudes snort lines of coke and and I don't want them getting any funny ideas like auditioning for Tosh.0 behind my back, so I just banned it. If you can't beat them, use your 17 years of training in the radical far right Christian patriarchy to completely eliminate them from your scope of consciousness. 

The problem with this line of thinking is, of course, that even if your kid doesn't own a camera or watch YouTube, someone else's kid does. And if you give a kid a dream and a camera? They're going to use it. 

I actually do encourage my kids to film and make movies (my dad and I had a small videography business once upon a time) but when they were little enough to care about something other than boobies, phones didn't have cameras. Cameras were hard to come by, expensive, and cherished. They were only put in the hands of my young children with the intent. My kids had to plan out their movies, gather props, storyboard plots, and then borrow my video camera. Which meant I always knew what was happening. Which meant my kid was never going to end up on Tosh.0. WHICH IS FINE WITH ME. 

Even more than encouraging my kids to make movies, I force encourage them to unplug, go outside, and play. This is honestly more for my mental health than their body fat percentages. Cooped-up kids who spend all day blowing out zombie brains eventually just beat each other to pulps, and then I have to yell, and then everyone cries, and it's just easier if they go outside to ride bikes and burn ants and blow up legos like normal kids.

This is precisely why my kids don't have smartphones yet, but they have decent BMX bikes. 

But if you give a kid a BMX bike, you know what they're going to do? Yep. USE IT. By any means necessary, even if that means is a big pile of dirt right in front of the main street through your neighborhood.

(The following video is short (4 seconds), but will give you The Buttchills. Proceed with caution.)

(I only show this because he's okay.)

You know how your kid moans at you that he's dy-i-i-ing and you know in his voice that he really just has a biology quiz before you even lay an eye on him? Turns out, we have this superpower in reserve. When your kid walks in the door and says "mom?" you, from an entirely different room of the house, can hear "Mom? I did something really, really not okay to the body you slaved nine months of your life away lovingly creating, and once the shock wears off, it's going to hurt like shit".

All he had to say was Mom. I almost threw up in my mouth.

I'm no stranger to injuries. I had to carry my baby sister in one hand and the better part of her kneecap in the other through Veteran's Stadium when I was 12 years old. I've been cleaning up people's blood and puke since I was old enough to fill the mop bucket. I have two sons who have a long-documented history of getting truly ridiculous injuries like broken eyesockets and cracked skulls. My daughter has even thrown in a concussion or two, just to stay competitive. But in all my years of burnt, bloodied, and beaten bodies, I have never once had to deal with a castable break.

Checked that shit right off the ol' life list this week, let me tell you what. 

When I asked him to stay little forever, I didn't actually mean "Please, fracture your wrist, twice, right in the growth plates, so maybe you'll always have a wittle arm for your momma to wuv." But that's what I got. NAME YOUR TERMS CAREFULLY, MOMS AND DADS.  

At first I was PISSED that his friend was being an idiot filming him being an idiot, but then I realized that getting two terrified 12 year olds to tell you WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED TO MY BABY OH MY GOD is a lot like talking to a toilet on crack cocaine, and then I realized that I didn't need them to tell me, oh hai! I could see for myself through the wonder of mobile technology. I knew it was fractured when we watched that video and hear his little bones go thwap against the asphalt. 

Not five minutes later, my son asked me what I had done, because his texts were ringing off the hook. (Shut up, I don't know what you call it when a bunch of texts come in. I'm ancient.) I told him I didn't do anything (except forward it to him, duh, because seriously, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS SHIT.) We looked at my son's friend and he just kind of shrugged his shoulders and said, um, well, maybe I sent it to some people? 

And just like that, my son went viral in the middle of Hades, Arizona. 

And like any good viral video, *someone* turned it into a Demotivators poster. 

Which I can't stop freaking laughing about, because he's okay.

Only because he's okay.

He is okay. He has a cast for a month, which is pink because it's breast cancer awareness month and man, he loves boobies and is pretty sure getting a broken arm over fall break and a pink cast will get him loads of access to some *shudder*. He can hardly play Xbox, can't ride bikes at all, and can't even play catch with his friends anymore, which sucks for him. He also can't do laundry or take out the trash or tie his own shoes or practice the violin, which doesn't really suck for him at all. Force - Balance.

He still can't surf YouTube, though, even if he's totally on there now. Hypocrisy, thy name is Mommy Blogger. 

Two Down, One To Go

So, you know how your son has an emergency appendectomy on Friday night after you've just worked the Longest Recorded Workday on a Friday, from home, so you haven't even bothered to shower since Thursday at lunch because that's what you do on your lunchbreaks now and then on Saturday morning your soon-to-probably-be ex husband comes to the hosiptal and relieves you to home for a well-overdue shower and meal and so you take off all your clothes you've been wearing since Thursday night and while you wait for the shower to warm up, you breath for the first time since Friday afternoon when you realize something was very wrong indeed with your child, and you take a long, hard look at yourself in the mirror and that's when you realize that you could bring the three-toed sloth off the endangered list with the rainforest you're regrowing between your legs (see, soon-to-probably-be ex) and then you see his good clippers sitting there on his side of the counter, completely at your mercy for the next hour or so, and so of course you pull the little tiny useless washroom wastebasket over to where the bathroom socket is, which happens to be right in front of the washroom door, and while you're straddling the wastebasket, clippers grasping in one hand and pasty white belly rolls cinched up in the other, directly in front of the washroom door, you know how that is the exact moment your six year old daughter must walk into the washroom to ask you something that starts in Mom and ends, MOM? 



OG Related Post Widget Thingy Called "Memory": I wish this was the first time something like this has happened. 

This Week in the End of Denial, Folk Music, and Fight Club

My son has a lot of band concerts as we come to the end of the year. There are regional competitions he has to participate in; the cumulation of so many god damn hours before school and after school and on the weekends, and his band is kicking major ass through them all. 

He has to wear a tux top, black slacks, and black shoes, which makes him look awkwardly like his father (only really awkward for me, for obvious reasons I'd rather not say and make real *shudder*).

He's been wearing his dad's pants and shoes, which has allowed me to imagine him tiny, playing dress up in dad's old work outfits, and has kept reality at a lovely little bay. 

But now the band shows are coming hard and heavy, and so we took him out to get his own black dress shoes and slacks. Oh, hai, reality, your baby actually *did* grow up and no, that foot wearing a shoe one full size larger than mine now will never again fit inside my mouth. 

Matthew 13:42. That's all I'm saying about that. 

And while his father and he were busy fucking my entire imaginary life, this gongshow happened. 

    We can just go right ahead and file that under "Shit That Was Not in the Original Contract."

He sat on my knee and looked at me with those gorgeous green eyes and he promised me he'd stay little forever and I looked it up - staying little forever does not include doing Movember with all his friends next year.

The good news is that I got to have a lime and a coconut and a sleepover with my Texas bestie, which, contrary to the song, is exactly what the doctor ordered.  

I was also interviewed on ABC News about letting my kids practice MMA, which while not exactly an extreme sport by my definition, is extremely awesome and hopefully maybe a few other people will realize that.

This is me, trying to save the world - one bloody nose and molestache at a time.