Writer's Workshop Wednesday ~ Starr from The Insomniac's Dream

Hello there Hive.  Is that what Kelly calls you?  Hive sounds goddamn fan-fucking-tastic. 

So, I'm that crazy broad who writes The Insomniac's Dream.  If you're wondering why in the good goddamn I curse so much, well I normally do.  But this month is special.  It's The ABC's of Swearing. 

So, she's crazy and she swears like a gaytastic sailor? 

I know, I know, you're in love already. 

Today I am here to whine like a baby complain like a bitch rant like a goat-fucker tell you how, every year, my birthday and Mother's Day go by seemingly without fanfare, lost in the shuffle that is Tiny Artist's birthday.

If you haven't read his story yet, go on, I'll wait.  Now, you see he was but a gimp's ass hair away from being born on both my birthday and Mother's Day.  While that would have been super duper neat-o, and I could have understood being forgotten for this goat turd (and I say that lovingly) . . . It did not happen that way.



The above goats express my rage well for me.

I am here to demand, DEMAND my two days back!

Okay, I'd settle for one day.  Just one day that is about me, my day of birth, a day to celebrate that I let children rip their way out of my stomach like Aliens.  One.  Goddamn.  Day.

One.

To not be lost in the frenzy of a young boy with his greedy eyes gleaming in prospect of cake, ice cream, goodies, and presents.

Then, matters got worse. Last year, we got two kittens.  Can you guess when their birthday is?

These gonad lickers (well, they're female so I suppose they're gooch lickers) just so happened to be born on the day between Tiny Artist and I's days of birth.

We all know that in the eyes of young boys, kittens are more important than Mom.

So this year, I'll be celebrating year one for the cats, year nine for the boy, and . . . We'll just skip my birthday and Mother's Day.

(Or go out to dinner and "pretend" it's for me, when it's all about Tiny Artist.  Same as every second weekend of May for the last nine years.  Gay.)

On a serious note, folks, I love my son.  He's not really a goat turd or even a goat fucker.  Sometimes an asshole, often a demon, but never a goat ass licker.

Happy Birthday Tiny Artist!

Happy Birthday Callie and Tortie!  I love my cats, but unfortunately they really do lick their gooches.