How Do YOU Spell Relief?

Well, it has been some time since I put anything on here. I guess
I've been really busy, lately...what with the new weight bench and
free weights to protect the kids from (read: protect from the kids.)
And then with the internet service provider collecting our monthly
fee (pre-paid, I might add) and then promptly switching the cable off,
I've had very little time to be on here. Oh, and what's with this green
font, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. I'm quite gassy....and I am feeling a
little on the green side.
Yeah, ewwww gross! Well, there's no reason to pretend here. I come
from a long line of farters. I'll omit their names to protect the (not-so)
innocent. BUT I inherited the fart-gene, baby....from BOTH sides of
the family. Now I've not yet inherited the gaseous genetic trait where
I race to the bathroom with lower cheeks pinched tightly leaving a "pop-
pop-pop-pop" sound trail behind me. (Our family has actually named
this trait after one of the family elders, however, since I'm attempting to
protect the family fart tree, I guess I'll have to omit that too.)
Anyway, we've got 'em all in our family: the loud, the louder, the machine
gun, the "oh, hell, who stepped on the dog", the not-so smelly, the smelly,
the s.b.d. and the "WHAT crawled up your ass and died". ANY type of
fart ever known to man can be claimed by anyone (or several) in my family.
My brother recently chewed me out on facebook for discussing his "rancid
ass" on the internet. Hmmmmmm. Truth be told, HE brought it up when he
reminded me of a fart he "dropped in my ear" during a trip we took together
to Arizona. My husband has been known to hear my bom-booferous,
window shakers from over two window unit air-conditioners (with about 8
spoons shoved inside each....THAT is another story that I'll call Why My
Kids and Spoons Caused Me to Declare Bankruptcy), a ceiling fan, a
snoring congested 1 year old and the movie DIE HARD cranked up on the
tv. I lied in my room laughing for 15 minutes after my own fart only to finally
think, "He must not have heard me. Maybe it wasn't as loud as I thought."
Only to have him poke his head in the bedroom door about 30 seconds later
and ask, "Are you okay? Did the roof fall on you?" DAMN. How embarrassing.
Well...THAT was nothing.
TODAY I was peeling potatoes for dinner and the washing machine was
making it's usual jet engine noises in the spin cycle and I had a CD playing
in the kitchen. I looked around to make sure my husband wasn't around (kids
are fair game...I'll fart around them just to get even for them walking in on me
in the bathroom or only peeing on MY side of the bed!) and I let 'er rip.
Well, I don't know what a ripped spleen or ruptured small intestine actually
feel like but I imagined it today. OH MY WORD! I doubled over and cried
against the sink it hurt my abdomen so bad. I must have shrieked without
realizing it because Hamo and my husband came running in thinking that I must
have cut myself. Then through the tears I started laughing. My husband asked
what happened and I told him he didn't want to know. He looked puzzled. So
somewhat embarrassed I told him, "I farted so hard I hurt my intestines."
He just rolled his eyes and muttered something in Arabic about "giving him
strength."
At least my son felt for me. He hugged me and said, "I'm sorry your farts are
so strong they fight back." Little snot. He snickered as he walked out. Laugh
if they must. But I may be the first person in history to ever end up in traction
due to bad gas!