Is disgusting the new black? No? Oh. Darn.

I’ve totally lost any desire to put forth the effort to have good hygiene.

I have become a stinky, flaky skinned, hairy, brutally disgusting version of my former self.

I’ve gotten used to going for long periods of time without taking a shower, brushing my teeth, or shaving.

I took a shower the other day… but I couldn’t remember when the one before it had happened.

At some point, this is going to become so ridiculous that something is going to have  to change.

I mean, there’s only so long I can blame it on Braden or claim I’m saving water to protect the environment.

Eventually, I’ll be POLLUTING the environment.

Like, early next Thursday.

Or whenever that dirt-encrusted thing growing off the side of my body starts talking. (It already has a face.  I’m thinking of naming it Grubbo.)

To add to my new-found charm, I’ve gained quite a bit of weight.

Yes. Kevin & Leroy are back, and Pattie has become ginormous.  Once again, parts of my body are rolling over onto other parts of it, saying, “Oh, Hai!  I’m TOUCHING you and I’m SO NOT supposed to be touching you! Neener.”

I have a largish pile of clothes I can’t wear, but I’m rockin’ the maternity clothes.  And no, I’m not pregnant.

Unless we’re counting Grubbo.

It’s time for Operation Unfattenning and Destanking.

Hold on people, I’m about to step away from the fridge, onto the treadmill, and then into the shower.

This could get ugly.

I think Grubbo just hissed at me.

All the fun of postpartum without the hassle of a cute newborn.

Like seeing crap like this in the drain after a shower.

Yup.  The whole postpartum hair falling out thing.  Either that, or the Hashimoto’s is acting up again.  (Or it could be the fact that I only shower about once a month.  Naaaah.)



And ohhhhh, the mood swings!

And no, I’m not even getting a decent amount of sleep, because, apparently, I’m a moron.

(Also, Conan is funny. I <3 Conan.)

And I recently realized something: DAMN, my website has been depressing lately!

Have you noticed? I have.

So I wasn’t really all that surprised to see my feed reader subscription count massively dropping here and there last week.  I mean, who wants to keep being brought down?  Depressed?  Reminded of their own mortality? *click*

Certainly not people who enjoy looking at pictures of poop.  “We need sarcastic rants and disgusting potty humor, Lotus, come ON!”

And I know I haven’t been showering much lately, either, but that should really only be affecting John and Braden.  You, my lovely readers, should have no reason to claim I brought on any sudden wretching impulses. Until I show you pictures of my unshaven legs. Or maybe even my armpits. Anyone want to see my unshaven armpits? No? Fine, suit yourselves.

Hahaha.

But, honestly…

Sixty of you jumping ship in one day alone?  Really?  Was there a “Dude, Lotus Sucks” Convention somewhere that day?  There was punch and pie, wasn’t there?  You bastards.*

A few nights ago, I was lying in bed with John, lamenting to him about the loss of feed readers shortly before sleep mercifully overcame our toddler-beaten bodies.

The next morning, I woke up to find The Number of The Beast on my feed reader count.

And I just thought, “Really?  Great.  Awesome.”



At least Satan’s still reading.






*Because calling my audience bastards will REALLY help improve the chances of my being able to maintain a following. I’m SMART like that.