I can prove that god exists.
I use the lower case deliberately, because The Wonder That Is My Blog does not discriminate based on religion. Whether you worship God, the Great Mystery, or Ramrod the Holy Toaster, you are welcome here. So I'm going to use the lower case, and feel free to insert whatever deity-licious name you'd like.
Anyway. There are two episodes in my past that are useful in the whole proof-of-god's-existence thing. The first is the birth of my twins. See, the whole pregnancy with son thing was pretty much an exercise in excrutiating discomfort punctuated with short periods of sleep. I was on bed rest for about two months in my inlaws' living room. And I love my inlaws. They love me. But I think that by the end, they were as happy to have my whale-sized arse off their couch as I was.
Actually, I was bigger than whale-sized. I had this red sweater, and I was so big that you could have seen me from space. If there are any astronauts reading my blog, I was the little red blob on North America. It wasn't a hot air balloon.
So one day I said to myself, "Self, I'd like to have more kids. I hate being pregnant, but they're worth it. Although I wish I could just skip the pregnancy thing and just have the kids. Oh, and I think I'll name my toaster Ramrod, because it seems strangely fitting."
And less than a month later, I was pregnant with twins. I can just see god sitting up there, giggling at my expense. "Well, if she wants babies but doesn't like to be pregnant, I'll send her TWO AT ONCE! She'll have to learn to hold a book with her feet while she feeds them, and that will be funny. Oh, and the toast is done."
The other proof that I have that god exists and really needs to come to one of my dinner parties because he has a great sense of humor comes from when Slayer and I got engaged. Because we did the whole "will you marry me?" "hell yes!" thing, and then we got out the bubbly and toasted each other with glasses that Slayer had purchased especially for this purpose. Unfortunately, I was so giddy that I knocked my glass over and completely obliterated it.
Later, Slayer was washing our one remaining champagne glass, and he looked at me and said, "Well, at least we have ONE glass left," because we really haven't matured past the Pigtail Pulling Syndrome in kindergarten: you know, where you pull the pigtails of the girl you like? So he starts ribbing me about being a klutz when the bottom just fell off his glass, PLINK. In midair.
That Ramrod. He's such a kidder.
P.S. If you are one of those people who have come here after searching for a "freaky mom," I think you may be in the wrong place. I'm not THAT kind of freaky. I'm the kind of freaky that thinks Ramrod the Holy Toaster is freaking hilarious.
Don't diss Ramrod the Holy Toaster! You're treading on dangerous unhallowed ground there, and Ramrod knows where you live!
Cuz watch out--quadruplets!
Ramrod the holy toaster...I bow before thee with my box of Meijer frozen waffles, asking for forgiveness. And for some real maple syrup and possibly some fresh blueberries.
My mother-in-law gave us a new toaster oven last year, and I have named it Sparky the evil douche bag. It is the devil incarnate and tries to kill me every morning.
We don't have a toaster
;( Probably a good thing as I might have another bagel incidence.
KC: Bite your tongue, woman! Please don't ever say the Q word to me again! ;)
Vivi: I love Meijer waffles too. They're great for sacrifices to Ramrod. Although Sparky the Evil Douche Bag has a nice ring to it too. Snarf.
Tiny T: I dunno. Toasters are pretty foolproof. Right?
Maybe I shouldn't have said that.
So should we watch out for toaster ovens? As I understand it, they would seem to be an abomination in Ramrod's eyes and any one who uses them would then be heretics.
Of course this also makes wonder about microwaves and Dutch Ovens.
LMAO @ this post! Too funny, Carrie.
I see some kind of Battlestar Galactica allegory in all this.
The Cylons are called Toasters on the show, and they are also searching for god. (Lowercase.)
Carrie, I have one question. Are you a Cylon?
Carrie, knowing me and my fab cooking skills I'm sure I could find a way to set fire to toast in a toaster :P
skilli: You're probably right. This is why I don't use a toaster oven. That kind of behavior could get me burnt at the stake. Or burnt toast. Either way, it's bad.
Balthazar: I am not a Cylon. I'm totally a Season One version of Starbuck, and don't you forget it. ;) Oh, and I think you meant to post that last comment on Rachel's blog. I get us confused too.
Tiny T: That kind of thing takes talent, woman. I'm impressed.
Our toaster's name is Timmy...I know, not original at all...he's just a common folk toaster.
My hubby and I also tease each other to show affection...Excuse me, I have to go grab the hat off of his head!
If you ever need the "photo" (I can't imagine you would lose it), I can always Email it to you again. It does a fine job of summing up your pregnancy attitude.
All hail ramrod!!!
Giver of eternal skeet targets!!!
Carrie, this made me laugh out loud! Especially the bit about your husband's champagne glass. That was perfect.
First Santa, and now God.
You, my friend, are in serious trouble.
(I'd start praying to Ramrod for an anti-lightning force-field made of toast crumbs)
Kelly: If you want to send the hat to me, I'll hide it for you. :)
Brains: Hah. I think I've still got The Photo. But I don't understand what you mean. Wasn't I smiling? ;)
Booklady: Yeah, I still give him grief about that. Glad you liked it!
BPV: You think I'm going to get struck, do you? I'm just trying to be politically correct; I swear!
Ha! You always have such great stories!
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