Screen doors, Marvin thwarts, and cupcake floss

You'll notice I'm not at Home Depot, getting my screen door. Oh, did I not tell you I found a screen door I liked? One of you told me they had wooden screen doors there, just like I liked, and they were less then $200 when I looked! I was so excited, and I emailed a photo to Marvin.

"What are you bugging me about now, woman?" was his reply back. He wrote me back from his stressful summer job. Have I told you about Marvin's stressful summer job yet? He is sitting on a private LAKE all summer reading MY Kindle, waiting for poor beleaguered kids who don't actually live around said lake to show up. If they don't belong there (the kids who live there have wrist bands or money clips or something), Marvin kicks them out. That's it. That's what he does all day. Sits on a lake and kicks out the riff-raff.

So you can see how he wouldn't want to be disturbed at that hard job. Anyway, I was so excited that we could get a screen door, and I just had to hold out until today, when he said, "We can't get a screen door. Our doorway is 35-and-a-half inches and those doors are 36 inches."

I just know there is a way to put in the door. I JUST KNOW IT. But Marvin likes to ruin all my fun and make my life hell. I wish I were a huge tomboy type and knew from door-putting-in so I could say, "Nonsense. We just have to bluh-bluh-bluh the bloodey-bloo."

I know we just have to bluh bluh bluh the bloodey bloo. Marvin is keeping the truth from me.

In other news, I am also thinking of getting this rug for the dining room.


Do you know the only good part about having a full-time job and 87 outstanding freelance projects that you are committed to doing with all your free time? You have scads of money. Who knew that hard work resulted in financial reward? Why didn't anyone ever tell me this?

It's made of recycled plastic bottles and packing materials. The rug, not my hard work. So you can hose it off rather than do whatever fancy things you have to do to clean an Oriental rug in real life. I feel weird saying "Oriental." I feel like not unlike Marvin's grandmother, who used to call all Asian people "Chinamen."

Probably I'll decide to get this and Marvin will say our floors are 35-and-a-half inches.

And my final purchase today is for Faithful Reader and fine artist Mrs. Oh, who made me my nice Bee Gees picture yesterday when I asked everyone to send me photos of Henry with Barry Gibb hair. If you did not read my blog this week you are totally lost.


I mean, look at the craft that went into this photo. And 'shopping. And she even chose the characters perfectly. Of COURSE Robin would be Francis. And Winston would be easygoing Maurice.

This is why I decided that even though Mrs. Oh did not win the coveted inflatable fruitcake for being the FIRST faithful reader to send me a photo, she is winning an honorable mention gift of cupcake-frosting-flavored dental floss.

You go, Mrs. Oh.

That is all I have to tell you. Oh, and Dawn in Austin is our commenter of the week. Click This Week's Special. Because I giggled all week at "cluck on a couch."


You would die if you knew how many people sent me pictures of Henry with Barry Gibb hair.



Henry Gibb II 

Faithful Reader Christine sent a really good one in Flicker, which won't let me cut and paste. Stupid Flicker. Here's the link.


But it was Faithful Reader Rebecca who sent in her photo first (above), winning her the coveted inflatable fruitcake. I like that she included the eagle medallion, which of course Henry would wear.


I know! Lucky! It's a $6.95 value. June's blog. Where you come for the good contests.

Thanks to everyone for sending me your photos of Benry Gibb. Or Barnry. I wanted to show everyone's picture but I got so many that I didn't have time to download them all.

Oh, but there was one more I wanted to show you, because you are gonna spit up.


Dr. June

Well, here I go. Back to real life. Fortunately I don't mind so much. I always think if you get back from a vacation and you're absolutely miserable to be back, you should rethink your life.

Dr. June. I should have my own TV show. Did I ever tell you when I lived in LA, I had a friend who lived right next to the Paramount Pictures studio, and right in the shadow of her apartment was a GIANT wall photo of Dr. Phil? His big egg head was staring at me every time I went to visit her, asking me how that was working out for me.

Did anyone read The Great Gatsby? Do you remember the part about the billboard with the big eyes? It was like that. 

While I have been writing this important tome, Henry has been at the closet in this room, meowing. When he was a kitten, I had a dangly toy in there that I hung up. I'd drag it down and hold the stick and he'd LEAP after it over and over again, but the thing is, he totally destroyed it. So it's seriously been a year since that toy has been up there, but do you know that EVERY DAY that poor cat goes to the door of the closet and meows at me, thinking that toy is still there and I am just failing to play with him?

I guess a good cat owner would have maybe replaced the toy.

Anyway, so just now he was mowing and pressing on the door, and somehow the door popped open and he got sucked back there, and now he is stuck in the closet and I hate to tell you but to me that is hilarious. I can hear him leaping on all the shelves looking for the toy.

And isn't that what we all do? Keep looking for the thing that made us happy once? I mean, it's why Barry Gibb doesn't update the hair. He keeps the hairdo he had when he was happiest, back when he was the man. It's why Pam Anderson keeps showing up naked everywhere. I am SO still a bombshell!

We get one happy time and then spend the rest of our lives trying to get it back.

Have I mentioned I'm Dr. June today? Does anyone need any advice? I think Marvin should always be in my blog audience, like a giant loser with no life, and at the end of my blog we should walk out together.

Speaking of which, I caught the end of a TV special on John Lennon last night, and he was in concert, and right there next to him, ON STAGE, was my very very favorite person, Yoko. She had done some unfortunate layer thing with her hair, and she'd "play" one note on whatever instrument they had her on on stage which probably was unplugged or had the wires ripped out of or something, and anyway, she kept LOOKING at him under that layered hair.

You know, every Asian woman I see has absolutely lovely hair except Yoko Ono. She is the only Asian with the bad hair.

I wonder if Dr. June could cover more topics today.

You do have to hand it to my favorite person who doesn't bother me in the slightest, Yoko, though. She did not keep the "this is when I was happiest" hair. She cut that mess and it looks infinitely better.

Wouldn't it be hilarious if she got to heaven and John Lennon had met someone else? Or if all the remaining Doors guys got there and Jim Morrison was all, "Yeah, I started another band."

If you have not watched 7833028 Doors documentaries like I have, you may not know the part about how those guys from the Doors seem to do nothing else but talk about Jim Morrison. I mean, get over it. Okay. He was charismatic. He danced with Indian ghosts one night in concert when you were HIGH ON THE ACID. Move on.

Poor Henry is still in the closet. Not moving on. When I open the door he'll probably have Barry Gibb hair.

The first person to send me a Photoshopped Henry-with-Barry-Gibb-hair photo gets the inflatable fruitcake that Joann never received (you never sent me your address, Joann!).


Marvin/Robin and I have to go now.

June’s vacation pictures. …Hey! Where ya going?

Remember when the Jews wandered the desert for 40 years? That was nothing compared to me trying to get home from effing Colorado last night. Holy Katie H. Crap.

I was in FOUR airports. I traveled for FOURTEEN hours. This would make sense if Aunt Mary lived in, say, Amsterdam, but she's like FOUR STATES AWAY.

Who was cranky when she got home with the chickens at dawn's early light this morning? Who had two plane delays, a breakneck run from one airline to another, an airport train that got STUCK IN THE TUNNEL, rendering me UNABLE TO BREATHE I was so panicky being caught in that concrete tube surrounding the train, and NO FOOD ON ANY PLANE WHATSOEVER?

So it was a good trip home. Happy today. Feeling perky. Looking good.

I woke up spooning Tallulah, my chin on her fairly smelly head. I love her so bad.

Anyway, let me spin you a yarn about my trip photos.


Here is a photo of my aunt and me and our identical ventriloquist chin issue. Also, I like how the rectangle of my camera is shading my face. Is my father a photographer? Had he come with us on our walk this day we would not have had this tragedy.


I admired Aunt Mary's purple toenail polish.


Aunt Mary has a convertible, and 28385038533145 visors to protect her from the sun and/or serve to make her look authentic when she deals at the blackjack table. I have decided I want a convertible now. I never wanted one before. My dream car is a Mini Cooper. Now I want a Mini Cooper convertible. I cannot afford a Mini Cooper, and I really can't afford a Mini Cooper convertible.


I liked my father's silver bracelet. Very Crazy Hearts.


My aunt has two cats, who you know I left alone and didn't poke at or kiss or talk in high squeaky voices to or anything. Her cats are old, like 17 or something, so you can imagine how they were hep to my attentions. This is Alfie. Every time he saw me he left the room. I LOB UUUU ALFEEEEEE! kisskissskissskiss!!!


On my last day there, Leon finally swung at me. So sick of me. Why this small-hair bitch kiss Leon? Leon old man. Leon still kill you with claw, you push Leon.

Both my father and aunt like to cook, and they go around talking about recipes like it's interesting. This was a pie with blueberries and nectarines that I ate 478 pieces of.

Oh, and by the way, on last night's hellish airport trip, I had on my Bye Bye Pie tshirt but I forgot, since I was undergoing psychological torture that perhaps Gitmo ought to look into, and anyway some guy at the magazine store said, "You not like pie?" I said "What?" about three times before I figured out he was reading my shirt and wondered why I was saying bye bye to pie. Oh, dear.


We did lots of short day trips, including going to the farmers market in a nearby town. To buy diva-ish peaches with human features.

When I was there, I bought something for my mother-in-law, and remind me, after my mother-in-law's birthday, to tell you how annoying the person was who sold it to me. For those of you selling things at street fairs? Customer service, folks. Customer service.


Dad fell for this magnet bracelet, he was DRAWN to it, even though he already has a bracelet (see above), because this one is supposed to cure all ills.


Apparently it doesn't cure immaturity.

We went to a different town and shopped another day, and I got a necklace that has an Eiffel Tower, a French coin, and a silvery sparkly kind of ball on it. Hello, everything I like. Dad needed a pin cushion and he found this voodoo doll. Hope he doesn't name it June.

Speaking of necklaces, this is the diamond and ruby necklace Aunt Mary got me for my birthday. Are you dying? Are you wondering if I could have more age spots? Do you think I got enough sun in my lifetime? Anyway, love the necklace. Love my aged, leather skin. When I die you can make a couch from me.


Of course, we were there to celebrate Mary's birthday. Here is dad wrapping her gifts in the fish paper he brought. I do not mean it literally wrapped fish first, cause, ew.

When my father handed Mary her gifts and card, we noticed it kind of looks like he wrote, "Happy birthland, Mary" which really makes no sense. I mean, we weren't even in the town where she was born.


My father is always teasing Aunt Mary about her finger injuries. It's true that she seems to frequently cut or break or sprain or catch her fingers in things. On my father's eighth birthday, Aunt Mary stuck her fingers in the lawn mower, which was not one of her more MENSA moves, and his whole birthday was ruined because she got blood everywhere and they had to go to the ER. This is one of the gifts he got her, this glove you wear in the kitchen that you supposedly cannot cut through.

Then Aunt Mary didn't wear it to cut her ice cream cake and almost cut the crap out of her finger.


Here is my Aunt Mary's husband, my nice Uncle Omar, who (a) had to put up with family visiting and (z) gave her the trip to London for her birthday. He is a prince of a man.

Also he likes cats. And he has a rooster on his shoulder, which could be like having a monkey on your back but I'm not sure.

I guess that's all I have to show you. Lucky for you, my father took 11,934 photos that he will send me soon so there COULD BE MORE SHOTS! Tune in tomorrow! I know you'll stampede back for that.

I do not exist

I cannot blog today, although clearly I AM blogging, so what a cold-blooded liar I am. But this is my last day here on vacation, so I must, you know, vacation. However, I wanted to check in and tell you I'm (a) not dead, because I know how ya'll get twisted in your panty parts when you don't hear from me, and (2) ask you about Jillian.

Who is still working out to their Jillian DVD, the one I insisted we all go out and buy so we could get emaciated together? I pretty much forgot all about her flared-nostril self the minute I started my new job. Did anyone stick with it?

Let me know.

Talk to you tomorrow when I am home. I can show you all my vacation shots. There's nothing more exciting than someone else's vacation shots. And I'll be sure to stop you when you're flipping through them. "Oh, wait! This is from when…"

P.S.I just checked Facebook, because nice vacationing, and Hulk, you better tell us why you're single again.

P.P.S. Hulk, is it okay if I announce to the entire viewing audience that you're single?

The weather is here. Wish you were beautiful.

Who watched the season premiere of Mad Men last night? Best line of the show was, "They couldn't even afford to send a whole interviewer."

If you don't watch Mad Men, you are already bored silly by today's post.

Yesterday was my aunt's official birthday, and we had a high time. I do not mean we passed the dutchie. My father made a big dinner which involved chicken and peanut sauce and it was the most delicious thing I ever ate in my life. Also there were soba noodles, which were similarly delish, even though I have no idea what a soba noodle is. To me it sounds like something you'd eat on the couch.

People in Michigan say "davenport" when they mean "couch." Do they do that anywhere else?

I got my Aunt Mary an emerald ring from the Sundance Catalog. I was so excited to give it to her I was ready to spit up. My father got her a genealogy kit from National Geographic, which he had similarly bought for me and for himself years ago.

National Geographic is doing this study on where everyone originated thousands of years ago. So they send you this kit and you swab your cheek and they send you this whole report on your haplogroup, which is the group of people your ancestors were. Everyone came from Africa originally, but then eventually people said, "Africa is hot and I'm sick to death of zebras. Let's see what else is out there." So they all WALKED to other, you know, continents. They did not get on Expedia.

So my father and I had relatives who left Africa and went on to Turkey, and then to western Europe. Isn't that interesting? I don't even LOOK Turkish. Or enjoy Turkish taffy.

The reason it'll be cool to get Aunt Mary's haplogroup is women's DNA samples are more revealing, and mine had my mother's people mixed in there, of course, so Aunt Mary's could tell us more about this side of the family. Maybe we went from Africa to Pasadena or something.

Anyway, the other good thing my aunt got for her birthday was from her husband, my Uncle Omar, whose name is not actually Omar. He is taking her to London for Christmas! Isn't that cool? As soon as she opened her gift, my father said, "Oh, did I mention I wanted to come here and visit for Christmas?"

Everyone's a comedian. Mary said she'd decorate and he could come to her empty house.

I guess I have to stop typing now because a minute ago I was in this room alone, and suddenly it's like when you go to the bathroom and all your pets have to run in with you. Every paternal relative I have is crammed in here with me.

Perhaps everyone moved from Africa to this room.

Wind Beneath My Grill

In case you were worried sick, I am still on vacation in Colorado. I did not storm home in any sort of family drama huff or anything. In fact, we went to my Aunt Mary's downtown–not that she owns the downtown, and why not? Doesn't it irritate you that none of your relatives are filthy rich?–and did a little (wait for it) shopping yesterday.

As promised, my father checked out the downtown bar. He was back in five minutes, though, as apparently the only other patron in there was some guy with an oxygen tank, drinking coffee, and when my father sat down he nodded hello at Dad. Then a few minutes later he nodded hello again, and then Dad noticed he nodded hello to his invisible friends next to him and was mouthing words but no sounds were coming out. It really wasn't the jovial I'm-drinking-while-the-womenfolk-are-shopping scene he was aiming for.

So he joined us, and ate a lot of the free donuts and suckers offered at various stores. Which is just as good as four beers in a dark bar. Don't you think?

I did not buy anything. Truth be told, Marvin and I are saving up for a screen door. I know. We really know how to live large. But we need a screen back door so bad. I want an old wooden flappy one that I will inevitably purchase off eBay or Craigslist or something. Remember the screen door on The Waltons? It always gave that satisfying smack when Erin or Jim-Bob ran out the door.

From now on I want you to call me June-Bob.

I also want one of those metal screen doors with the initial in the middle. I love those. I don't even care if it's not my initial. Marvin, if you're reading this, go look on Craigslist. How much could those screen doors be? No one wants them but us.

The point of this whole drawn-out tale is that eventually we came back home and were sitting around talking and paging through magazines and such when all of a sudden my Aunt Mary became hysterical. She laughed and she laughed and she laughed, and I noticed she had one of those old lady catalogs, which I have blogged about before, how we enjoy those old lady catalogs my grandmother used to get.

My aunt was in a heap on the couch, so I took the catalog out of her weakened hand and found this:


These are pieces of charcoal you stick to your underwear. When pesky gas occurs, these absorb any odor.

I am not making this up.

I mean, how bad are things in your rear parts that you need this? And I can't help thinking of when my grandmother got old and ceased to care, and would just lean way over in her chair when flatulence came on.

My father pointed out that a better name for this product would have been Tooty-Fruity.

So that's been our sophisticated weekend. This is probably what the Hemingways did when they got together, too. For Whom the Bell Toots.

Anyway. Today is my aunt's actual birthday, and we are going to the Farmers Market and then my father is making a fancy dinner and I cannot wait for Aunt Mary to open my gift. It's a good one. I forgot to tell you she gave me my birthday present when I got here, and it's a beautiful ruby and diamond necklace! I guess I got a fancy gift cause 45 is one of those milestone birthdays. You know, sort of.

I am off to market farmers or whatever. And to pass wind into a briquette. 


So other than our car accident, it's been a lovely trip so far.

My father drove in from New Mexico, and obviously I flew here to Colorado, and we showed up at the same time, which is exciting. Kind of like in a sitcom where someone is having a party and the doorbell rings and 89 people come through the door.

Maybe when my Aunt Mary opens her birthday presents tomorrow they'll be perfectly wrapped but all she has to do is lift off the top, too. TV shows are realistic, is what they are.

 Anyway, my aunt made a delicious dinner that involved a salad with cherry tomatoes from her garden, and everyone got annoyed with me because I kept taking all the cherry tomatoes but they were GOOD, and there is such a huge difference between a real tomato and those red globes of plastic they sell at the store, and because we had eaten something healthy I had to get back in balance so I said, "Let's go to Dairy Queen!"

Everyone was hep to that idea.

My father's little car was in the driveway. I don't know from cars. It's little and it's black. Do you feel like you were here, with that detailed description? It doesn't have a back seat, and he and I drove all the way across the country in it once with his 6"4' self and that was roomy.

At any rate, we're all laughing and talking as my Aunt Mary is backing out the driveway and I was thinking, "You know, she's certainly getting close to my father's car" when BOOM! she smacked right into it.

Guess who forgot there was a car in her driveway?

Oh, she felt just awful. My aunt's car is red, so there's this huge pink crumple on the front of my father's car. He says it looks like he ran into a pink poodle or something. Anyway he isn't upset at all, but she's mortified.

It didn't stop us from getting ice cream, of course, and after we got our Peanut Buster Blizzards, which my father had never had and accidentally called a Buzzard, he said, "You know, maybe you're getting too old to drive, Mary. Maybe we need to take your license away."

You can imagine how pleased she was to be teased in this fashion.

I tried to change the subject by bringing up how I'd already photographed her refrigerator magnet that reads, "Shop," which if you knew my Aunt Mary you'd know was kind of a redundant command, but it only led my father to ask, "Are you forgetting to shop?"

So I figure you'll be hearing about a family murder/suicide in Colorado sometime this afternoon.

Silver bird takes me ‘cross the sky

Fortunately, I have nothing to tell you today that's gonna piss anybody off. Unless me flying across the country to spend time with family angers anyone. Ooo, what if environmentalists are reading this? Did I mention I'm flying a private plane?

Yes, my family name is American Airlines. Everybody off this thing! It's my plane!

My Aunt Mary, the one who likes to shop, turns…a certain age this weekend, and my father and I are flying to Colorado to help her celebrate said age.

Mary My Aunt Mary was lying in bed a few months ago, probably under sheets she had shopped for recently, and she was thinking about how I'd be 45 this year. And how that was, you know, old. Then all of a sudden she thought, "OH MY GOD, I'M GONNA BE [insert certain age here]!"

So we're making the best of it. My father is cooking a special dinner. I think my Aunt Mary is cooking special things too. I will be, you know, eating them.

Also, Aunt Mary wants to take me shopping at her favorite store downtown, and my father thought he'd …check out the bar nearby.

So it should be a good trip. Tallulah saw my pink suitcase and is refusing to speak to me. She just huffed out the door to daycare with nary a goodbye. I had to hug her from the back, like I was Heimliching her.

I am unsure of Aunt Mary's computer sitch, but will try to blog when I can. In the meantime, argue amongst yourselves.

Oh! But I did want to show you a photo of cheerful Francis before I go. Ever since my birthday last week, this happy bear and balloon combo that Marvin put on my breakfast-in-bed tray has been on Franny's window sill.


Look at Fran arse, effin' bear.

I love seeing his hateful self next to this message of cheer. 

But look! It's made him nice to Winston. Perhaps Bear of Joy has special powers. I'm gonna leave it up there. Maybe by the time I get back Francis will be the friendliest cat on earth. And my butthole will be speaking Ugandan. Is Ugandan even a language? Controgersy! “Controgersy.” Nice. What do I do for a living, again?

Well, that was exciting. We had some fire in the comments yesterday! Okay, it wasn't really all that dramatic. Still.

So let's keep going! What say you? I am just like Dr. Laura or something, with all my controversy.

I wonder if there is anyone on earth who bugs me more than Dr. Laura. She's just so MEAN to her callers. She's always out of patience with everyone. I think she's burned out on her job. Is what I think. No one needs to be that crabby.

Anyway, I have gathered you all here today to talk about kids. I know I said two days ago I was gonna talk about how one of my coworkers has his art in one of those Art-O-Mat machines.

One of my coworkers has his art in one of those Art-O-Mat machines. I mean, what more can I say about it? I can't tell you his name because I am trying to keep my workplace and everything about it on the downlow so I don't become Dooce. So I don't get fired and end up making $40,000 a month at home on my arse parts. That does sound awful, doesn't it?

Katie Couric. She bugs me more than Dr. Laura, I think. Just her whole gummy smile. Get some LIPS. God.

The other day I read an article about Eva Mendes, and she said if you meet women (like me) who say they get along better with men and they don't have a lot of women friends, you should run the other way. Coincidentally, you know who bugs the CRAP out of me? Eva Mendes. She always looks like she needs a shower. And some astringent. She's just so unkempt. And she thinks she's sexy when really? Hello. Please shower. A little cotton ball, a little Sea Breeze. Maybe a brush. Then we can talk.


Why is she with Levi Johnston?

And stop wearing TANK TOPS all the time. You're a girl. You're not Popeye.

Goodness I wish I'd get to the point. Kids. I was gonna talk about kids.

Do they even make Sea Breeze anymore? What about Ten-O-Six Lotion? Remember that stuff? It was basically brown alcohol.

Okay, KIDS. Honest.

I have said this before, and obviously I have said everything on earth before because look at the 8203842 paragraphs above, but you may have noticed that I am 45 and married and I have no kids.

The reason I am 45 and have no kids is because I have never wanted kids. Not once. Not for a second. There has never been one instance where I have thought, "Oh! Kids! Wish I had some!"

People seem to immediately say, "Well, you know June. She hates kids." And I DON'T! I don't know why people prefer to think that if I don't WANT my OWN kids, I think they should all be eradicated from the planet. Kids are fine. I mean, not on my plane, generally, but you know. At a barbecue. At Gymboree. When you're in line at the grocery store. Etc.

I find kids amusing most times, and some of them are very cute. But as you can see from my tepid description, here, I do not have the Jones. The urge. That primal drive to have kids. Which is what I think you should feel in order to go out and have them.

And here is what I think. I think LOTS of women feel the way I do, but they'd never dream of not having kids because it's what people expect. And it's not always easy to be childless. I mean, it's a hell of a lot easier than having a passel of kids, I'm certain of that. But there are challenges to opting for this rather unusual choice.

I have been called selfish (by a woman who had seven kids, the last two when she knew her husband was having an affair and she got pregnant on purpose to keep him at home for a while longer. Then he did leave and she was back on the prowl when I met her, going out most nights and leaving the kids with her mom) (but I was selfish).

Me as a baby

I have been asked who will take care of me when I'm older. I love that one. That's why you have kids? Anyway, for the record, my cousin Katie is 12 years younger than me, and is a nurse, and has told me she'll take care of me when the inevitable dementia and/or cancer sets in that everyone in my family gets.

I have been asked, "What do you DO with your time?" like if you don't have to schlep kids to soccer every Saturday you must be at a total loss for entertainment.

And look, sometimes it's kind of lonely. Almost all my friends popped out the, you know, progeny. So they aren't able to just hang with me at the Peanut Barrel all afternoon anymore, throwing peanut shells on the floor and listening to the juke box.

The Peanut Barrel was a bar in my college town. I wonder if it's still there? You could always get someone to go with you to get a pitcher of beer at the Peanut Barrel.

Nevertheless, I do not regret my decision at all.

Marvin as a baby

And I have some friends who were BORN to be parents. They are all up in the parent thing, making up activities, and telling me the clever thing their kid did. But some people? Seem like they did it because they were supposed to.

So tell me the truth. Did you have kids because you felt the absolute undeniable urge to do so? Or did you just do it by rote? Do you sometimes wish you hadn't? If you do not have kids, do you ever wish you had? When? And do you think I was selfish for not having kids?

And do you think your kids are Tea Partiers?

Okay, that was only funny if you read my controversial comments yesterday. Or, you know, not.