Tag Archives: Silly Stuff

I just want to know that I am not alone. Bendy Hair Follicles?


Fess up.  Who has them?  Who even knows what I’m talking about?


Bendy Hair Follicles or BHF as I call them around here.  When your stupid hair grows out one way, and then gets forced into another direction and then it hurts like a mofo.  Yeah, you know what I’m talking about!  Don’t you?

I want to know that BHF is a real thing, and it is not just me.  My husband gives me a look like he thinks I am bat shit crazy whenever I mention it.  But he just doesn’t KNOW.  He has no hair.

I’ll tell you a little secret about hair. Hair is stubborn and hair doesn’t like being told what to do or where to go.


These are the people that are likely to be inflicted by this nasty reality:

  1. Curly haired bitches.  I think these girls have it the worst.  Their crap curly hair grows out of their head in all different directions and they generally have very strong evil follicles that resist hairbrushes best efforts to put them back into place.  What happens is this – unless the bitch in question lets her wild tresses go nuts, she has to put it up in some fashion.  There is a 100% chance that whatever hairstyle is chosen, there will be follicles bent the wrong way.  If the poor bitch has kids, especially babies who like to grab hair, wild and woolly hair is just not an option, therefore, she MUST tie it back and subsequently subject herself to the pain of the bendy follicle.
  2. Ballerinas.  These girls wear their hair in buns – right up on top of their heads.  Really tight buns – smothered in hairspray so the hair has no chance of escaping the anti-gravity hold.  This is all well and good while dancing on stage.  The girl looks as cute as a button, but she has no idea what is about to happen.  After her performance and the audience has all gone home, she has to take her hair out.  There is no avoiding it.  Once the 1000 bobby pins come out, her follicles are going to scream as they are allowed to fall back to their natural position.  Agony.
  3. Hippies.  Sometimes, you can get BHF is other places too.  Like your legs if your all hippie like or just don’t shave much.  This usually happens when you wear leggings or stockings.  Pregnant women wear leggings a lot and they also don’t get to shave much because they just can’t.  When you pull your leggings on, your spindly leg hairs are pulled upwards and trapped there.  That is of course until you take your leggings off later.  And then BAM – Bendy Leg Hair Follicles.
  4. Ferals.  Bendy Hair Follicles get worse as your hair gets dirtier.  If for some reason you don’t get to wash your hair very much, like you are homeless or have babies, there is a good chance that your follicles are getting bendier and bendier.  Especially as you keep on pulling your hair back everyday to avoid little hands getting up into your knots and pulling on them.  Also, as your hair gets more gross, you tend to resort to the old bun or shove it under a hat to hide the fact that you haven’t brushed your hair or showered in a month.  Not good options for the BHF sufferer. It’s just a vicious circle.  Sadly, the only way to cure BHF is to wash your hair.  Easier said than done.


I am horrified to say that I fall under all of these categories (well, except ballerina.  I haven’t done ballet for a long time, but I REMEMBER!).  And my hair gets curlier and bendier after each baby!  Forgot to mention – going to bed with wet hair is also a big no-no for the person with BHF as your head on a pillow is bound to push your wet follicles into unnatural positions and dry there.  Problem is, I generally shower at night after babies are asleep, but I don’t want to wash my hair then or it would be worse in the morning!  (not to mention that curly haired bitches SHOULD NEVER go to bed with wet hair or they wake with the afro from hell)  Sometimes my head hurts so bad that I pounce on D as soon as he gets out of bed in the morning and beg him to take the babies so I can wash my goddammotherfuckingbendyhairfollicles before I chop my head off, stomp on it and throw it in a fire.

I looked and looked for a curly haired bitch photo of myself but there just aren't any because I ALAWYS pull it back - thus making my BHF worse!

I looked and looked for a curly haired bitch photo of myself but there just aren’t any because I ALWAYS pull it back – thus making my BHF worse!

Is this normal?

Do YOU have BHF?

What animal is H?


I am the Mumma Bear.  T is Theo Bear.  K is a squirrel.  J is a sloth.  D is an Italian Stallion (wink wink).  What animal is H?

I posed this question to H while I was bathing her.  I asked her what animal she would like to be.  She said, ‘ggggaaaaaa’.

Did she mean a goat?  A gorilla?  I can’t think of any other animals that start with G.  K thinks she is a gummy bear.

When H is tired she nuzzles her face into my shoulder.  I call her my little burrowing cockroach.  People look at me funny when they overhear me call my baby a cockroach, but I promise that is a term of endearment and sounds sweet when you say it in a high pitch cutesy voice.

Some inspiration for you:

hazel what animal

Help me decide.

While looking for a picture of a gummy bear I found this - gummy bear leggings.  I think I just found my next date night outfit.

While looking for a picture of a gummy bear I found this – gummy bear leggings. I think I just found my next date night outfit.

My very bestest of the best and most ridiculous and down right absurd search terms.


I quite often get a chuckle out of the search engine terms from my blog stats.  I sometimes post the exceptionally funny ones on my Facebook page but today I thought I would compile all of the best ones in one place for you to chuckle over.  I think seriously, someone typed THAT into their search engine and got my blog?  WTF?  These are 100% real and simply cut and pasted with no editing at all.


sexy toe
a boy touching girls boobs pictures
sexy lesbians sucking red toes porn
pinterest milky tits
images of very so cute and funny images of babies trying very hard to push out there poo poo
university lecture theatre sex
silver bullet(frozen turd)
vagina de pornstar
harry potter felt the padding between his legs from his nappy
images of very so cute and funny faces like poo poo faces of babies
girl breastfeeding cat
cat breastfeeding girls
chicken plug poo
pinterest and foot fetish
mother in law makes me wear her clothes
sexy nude aunty with penis in pussy
women sexy feet finger soles toes death
damage controlman controlman meme
prepubescent boys feeling each other
how can i tell if i have maggots in me
tasting my dads doodle love it
went to work with a vibrator in me
how to make my breast a treat for a birthday surprise
bitches be like i want my long hair back
wife made me wear a nappy
recliners that don’t look like recliners


There were more.  Sooooo many more.  Very very disturbing.  Is my blog bordering on pornographic?

Right fess up peeps.  If YOU were responsible for finding me via any of those search terms comment below so we can all laugh and mock you!  I really don’t care how perverted/weird/crazy you are, stay and party Taco style xxx

cray cray



A mother always knows her rapscallion toddler is up to some kind of mischief when she can’t hear him.


I was quietly feeding H on the couch while T Bear was watching Baby Einstein.  He got up and played with some toys, read some books, toddled off into the kitchen, grabbed his water bottle, came back and gave H a head pat, went here, went there.  No biggy, all the cupboards in the kitchen are locked.  He can’t get himself into too much trouble.


I look adoringly at my sparkle princess while she nurses and take a few photos with my phone.



It is then that I realise I can’t hear T.


Uh oh, I smell trouble.

I call him… Nothing.


I detach H and pop her in the swing while I go and investigate.

This is what I find.



So now it seems that not only can he reach things that are left on the edge of the kitchen bench, he can also undo lids.



Mother’s Day and Minecraft.


Yesterday was Mother’s Day and once I had gotten both babies to sleep I opted to try and catch a few extra zzzzs rather than write this post (it didn’t work by the way, I am eternally short on zzzzs).  So here is my big shout out to all the mummies, albeit a day late.  Mums rock.


mothers day

Pleasantries aside, let me tell you about my Mother’s Day.

It all started with a crying baby.  Nothing unusual there.  I dragged myself out of bed to nurse H.  She went back to sleep so I fell back into bed.  Cue T waking up.  Wonderful husband hops up to get T out of bed and leaves me to try and get some more of those elusive zzzzs.  So far so good, I like the way this Mother’s Day is starting.

H doesn’t sleep for too long before she is up and ready to start the day, but that is ok.  Both the big boys are on the computer playing Minecraft.  They say happy Mother’s Day to me without taking their eyes from the computer screen.  Again, nothing unusual there.  We have a couple of Minecraft addicts.  K especially.

Anywhoo, D is giving T his breakfast so I make a coffee and go to join them.  I get plenty of MD love and cuddles from D, and from T I get a vegemite smear on my pyjamas.  D disappears for a moment to I assume round up the boys to come and give me my gazillion presents but comes back alone and annoyed.

It seems that when tapped on the shoulder (he was wearing headphones), K slammed down the headphones, swung around all angry like with eyes glaring and says, ‘WHAT?!’  Then realising that he was going to get into some serious trouble followed it up with a hundred I’m sorrys and ran off to his room upset with himself for ruining Mother’s Day.

You see, In days gone by we have had many an issue with the boys regarding computer games.  They get all consumed by them and can’t think about anything but.  There have been plenty of games that we have banned and deleted when they got too wrapped up in them and were unable to function as normal human beings.  They cannot handle the frustrations when they die/can’t get to the next level/lose and get angry and flip out.

We originally liked Minecraft because you it wasn’t competitive, you couldn’t die, there is no nudity or swearing and no blood and guts.  You just walked around and built shit and planted trees and played with pigs.  But over time they have founds ways to make it a drama for our household.  Now they play Minecraft survival games on servers and watch Minecraft videos on YouTube and read forums.  We have again found ourselves dealing with banging mouses and kicking the back of the computer desks and little eyes that well up with tears of pre-pubescent angst.

Yesterday morning was like that, except K knows that we are on the verge of pulling the Minecraft pin and seriously his world would IMPLODE so he is trying to be super happy and calm to trick us into thinking that he is coping well.  However sometimes (like yesterday) he blows that cool facade which in turn makes Mumma Bear mad.

I found him upset in his room beating himself up for ruining my day, which of course he didn’t.  We had a  little heart to heart and have put a halt on playing on the servers and gave him a massive warning that he’s on his last Minecraft chance.  I left him to contemplate his actions and a little while later he emerges from his room with a letter…


Fucking priceless.  I love that kid!

D and the boys then presented me with my present.  I am now the proud owner of an ALDI coffee machine and it, even though it is not a big ticket machine it makes a damn good cuppa.  Everyone I know that has one loves it and I was jealous of them.  I feel all posh and shit when I make my morning coffee now.

Aside from a coffee machine I told D what I really wanted for Mother’s Day was to have a family photo take with us ALL in it.  Grudgingly he agreed, so in the afternoon when all the mums in my family came over for an afternoon tea, I had my brother take a few photos of us in the back yard.  It wasn’t easy, but after a whole heap of photos with at least one of the boys pulling a stupid face we finally got a half decent photo of our family.

The best one.

The best one.

The worst one.

The worst one.

A nice one of me with my first born and my last born.

A nice one of me with my first born and my last born.

We had a lovely afternoon tea with my Mum, my mother-in-law, my brother and sister-in-law and their baby.  Of course it was loud and crazy and messy, but the best times often are and we wouldn’t have it any other way.  Well maybe it would be super unicorn awesome if cleaning fairies came but we all know that they do not exist.  The only cleaning fairies I know are mums.  Happy (late) Mother’s Day!

The hospital bag. Because my app told me to.


I realise that LSP will be here in 4 days, maybe even sooner.  I realise that I will be in hospital for 3ish days.  I realise that I’ll need some things for myself and LSP during that time, but jeebus, must I really pack so much freaking stuff?  Why is it that I am still putting this task off?  Pretty sure it’s just because I’m lazy.  Yep, that sounds about right!  I’ve been plagued by ‘cantbefuckeditis’ and you better watch out because this shit is catchy!


OK, so I went shopping on Monday for some essential hospital bag items.  My pregnancy app told me I needed these things. It also told me I needed a truck load of other stuff like massage oil and useless luxury items that I know I won’t use or need so I have only selected what I think is actually worthwhile.  Almost everything on these dumb hospital bag lists are geared at beautiful hippy labours where everything progresses in a timely fashion and goes according to your birth plan while listening to Enya.  I know better.  I’ve done labour, and I would have kicked anyone in the face if they tried to soothe me with Beethoven’s 5th or a relaxation massage.  Drugs, people – that’s all I wanted and to get thee to the operating room!


I bought:

  • Big black grandma high waisted undies with just the right amount of support for the incision, yet no annoying seams to irritate the crap out of my weirdo de-stretched jingly jangly jelly belly – check.
  • Pads, pads and more pads in all shapes, sizes and absorbancy – check.
  • Box of tissues for my many tears that will be shed, both happy and hormonal freak out tears – check.
  • Reeces Peanut Butter Cups, for sustenance of course – check.
  • Hand sanitiser for hospital germs – check.
  • Some new hair ties – desperately needed.  Some time during T’s labour I lost my hair tie and that was one of the most annoying parts of my hospital stay, not being able to tie my wild and woolly hair back.  Hair ties – check.
  • Lip balm because dry lips are my kryptonite – check (with a hint of colour so I look rosy, yet natural in photos – always thinking ahead).
  • Toothpaste – check.

I already had:

  • Breastpads, donated my friends – check.
  • Camera – check.  Must charge.
  • Nursing bras.  I prefer the good old Ahh Bras – check.
  • Hospital notes – check.
  • Phone and iPad, preloaded with Big Bang Theory and Glee (borrowed from K) – check.
  • Toiletries and make up.  Yes I need this, because hot diggity, I’ve seen better days! – check.
  • Comfy clothes – check.


The app says I need a going home outfit.  Why is this so?  I’ll have just had a baby, I won’t be attending a cocktail party or a discotheque.  Why will my going home outfit be any different to my ‘comfy hospital clothes’?  I’m pretty sure my going home outfit will consist of compression stockings, nana undies, ahh bra and anything else that is comfy and doesn’t hurt my tummy.  I couldn’t give two hoots whether or not I look glamorous.  I certainly won’t be leaving in my tightest pre-preg jeans or a mini skirt.  I won’t be photographed by the paparazzi, nor will my sexy compression stockings grace the cover of a fashion magazine, so who cares what I wear!  The only person who will care what I am wearing will be LSP and all she will be worrying about is if she can access my boobs.

This was my 'coming home outfit' when I had T.  I imagine this time around, it will be much the same.

This was my ‘coming home outfit’ when I had T. I imagine this time around, it will be much the same.  And also a perfect example of why I need to take make-up to cover up my puffy face.

I have some itty bitty clothes for LSP which I have just pulled out and now I am thinking that they might be too big!  Oh well, as long as she is warm, and has access to boobs she will be fine.  I have blankets to wrap her in and super soft tiny newborn nappies for her little bum.  Really, that is all she needs.  Oh and I’ll throw in my baby nail clippers for her first manicure.

Apparently I should be packing a bag for my partner.  Come on, if he wants to bring shit he can do that himself!  He is after all a 42 year old man, if he hasn’t learnt to take care of his own business by now then we are in serious trouble!  And when I say take care of his own business, I don’t mean ‘business’, although I am pretty sure he is a master in that domain too.

So now that I have all my stuff, it would be prudent to actually pack it at some point?  I am thinking tomorrow?  Or the next day?  I have PLENTY of time right?


Next job on the agenda, and one which the app says I should have already done is fit the car seat into the car.  First thing is first, clean the car of all the accumulated junk, rubbish and sand.  I don’t think I have even taken the van to the beach in the time that I have owned it.  How is my van full of sand?  A question which may never be answered.

That job I have thrown over to D.  He must clean out my van (until it sparkles) and fit the car seat tomorrow.  We also need to give putting in the double pram a trial run.  I am pretty nervous about being a double pram bandit.  Will people hate me when I take up so much room?

Wow.  Can’t believe I just blogged about my hospital bag.  Borrrrring.


To make things a little more interesting, here is a picture of T in his new pyjamas and a video of D and T rocking out.  We be jammin’.


A few little funny asides about my 2012 blog stats.


WordPress was so kind to send me a review of my year of blogging.  I like the way they have used the image of fireworks, like my entry into Blogland was so explosive and all.  I mean really, the world will never be the same again.  History books will be rewritten, they will read – 2012: Sophia, the amazing and hilariously quick witted Taco entered the blogosphere.  Billions of readers the world over created a cult following and a new religion was formed – Tacology.  Believers think that they were all born from a giant vagina.  Oh wait, that really is where we all come from (size of vagina in question is open for discussion).  My bad.


Here is my report:

Here’s an excerpt:

600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 4,100 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 7 years to get that many views.

Click here to see the complete report.


Things that tickled my funny bone:

1.  My 2 posts about boobs were the most popular.  This doesn’t surprise me really because everyone likes boobs.  Men love them, women have them, babies drink from them and children jiggle them.  Win win all ’round.

2.  I found my most popular search terms interesting.  It seems that girls/women are still slightly obsessed with Eddie Vedder as evidenced by the search term ‘Eddie Vedder’s Wife’.  Obviously that is not me, but once upon a time I wished it was.  You can read about my fantasies here.  The other search term I found intriguing was – ‘Cats Reading’.  Come on, really?  I have something to tell you folks.  Cats can’t actually read!  But if you really want to search for that you will find that it leads you to this post.

3.  Most commented on post was one about how much my baby’s shit stinks.  You guys are a classy lot aren’t you?  Ok, in all seriousness, the post in question was the one about whether on not to start using cloth nappies, and I have learnt that cloth vs. disposable is a very hot topic indeed!

4.  But the most interesting fact of all to me is this:  I noticed that whenever I checked my blog stats there was quite often a referring view from Pinterest from this picture –

Sexy Toes

Sexy Toes

I posted this in the one about reclaiming my mojo.  Well, I decided to actually go investigate who had repinned this picture.  Oh my gawd!  You wouldn’t believe what I found!  My toes are now a proud member of a ‘Legs Feet’ board belonging to what I can only assume is a dude with a foot fetish.  My feet sit alongside pictures of half naked girls with their arses up in the air, snatchburger sticking out wearing red latex stilettos and manicured toes being licked or sucked on and women wearing slutty heels, legs akimbo squatting onto a mirror.  I find this finding super funny and am somewhat proud of having my feet on display amongst such lovely legs, toes and vaginas.

The Untold Story of Weggle Wib – by Sergeant Starfruit


K decided he wanted to get back into the blog action tonight once he had seen that I had finally posted again.  We are pleased to fry your brain with some more of his oddball writing style.



The Untold Story of Weggle Wib


Hello adventurers. My name is Weggle Wib. I am going to tell you a story. Not a story of those stupid humans, but of me! The misunderstood floor!

 It was a lovely day. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. But something wasn’t right. There was tension in the frosty morning air. All of a sudden, a shudder and a shake, and BANG! A huge bucket come clumsily hurling down onto my poor face! Oh boy it hurt. But I didn’t complain. I’ve seen worse. I looked up to see a horrible sight plunging towards me. A dirty, mouldy, wet mop!

 The mop is a hated monster that was feared all across the house. It got you all wet, it scrubbed against your grain, and worst of all, it smelt of rotten fish and sewerage mixed together! Down it came. Splash! It rubbed on my tiles and it stripped me clean of my warm coverage of cosy grime and dirt! It was all I remember before I blacked out.

 I awoke to a crowd of murmurs. All the others wanted to see if I was okay after the terrifying dash with death. Then I realised, I was clean! My Dimples were flushed, my hands were scrubbed, my hair was brushed, I, was, beautiful! Finally I could live a care free life, unbound by my appearance; I’d turned over a new leaf. Or should I say a new towel?

The Cookie – by Sergeant Starfruit.


OK, it’s that time again folks.  It’s time for Sergeant Starfruit’s Monthly Message!

Remember, Sergeant Startfruit is not me.  Sergeant Starfruit is my weirdly brilliant, eccentric, genius boy.  The following ramblings come from the mind of my 11 year old son, K.  I hope your brain survives.  I accept no liability.  You read at your own risk.



The Cookie


At long last you finally receive your cookie. You’ve worked hard for this: you sold your home, your car, quit your job, left your family, and traveled across the world to find the perfect cookie. The one cookie that would not harm anyone.

Finally, you arrive at Sesame Street, where a blue monster bows and hands you the cookie. You put it in a bag and try to travel back to where you lived and resume life, but airport security won’t allow you, due to them thinking that your cookie is an explosive.

You are forced to rent a boat and row back to your home. Half way back, a 2-person floatable aircraft lands in the ocean. The pilot says that he heard about your destiny and your journey. He flies you to the spaceport where you sneak the cookie on board a spacecraft.

Half way back to the Milky Way, a space pilot dies suddenly due to choking on boneless Buffalo wings. Everyone on board panics and the spacecraft starts veering towards a near-by star. You bring out your cookie, which has a calming and soothing effect on the passengers, and you take the controls.  Due to your mastering in spaceflight in college, you easily arrive back on Earth and are known to the people as a intergalactic hero. You get a Nobel Peace Prize.

You sit down on the streets of New York, far from home, and finally eat your cookie. Nothing happens. You are full. Then suddenly, someone runs out of a shop near you and you also start running. You feel the urge to trip them, and you do. It turns out that it was the president of the Soggy Cloth Galaxy who was arguing with the president of the Milky Way Galaxy. He was angry at the fact that the UG (united galaxies) will not officially change the name of his galaxy, that he launches a quantum war.

The public is so angry with you for suddenly bring this holocaust upon them that you are chased for days. Finally, you seek refuge in a dumpster only to hear the sounds of a quantum bomb going off on the other side of earth.

If you never ate that cookie, you would have never tripped such an important man in history. You somehow survive, (maybe due to the effects of the cookie) and manage not to have any serious injuries or radioactive or atom charging burns. You find a partially working spacecraft and go, homeless, wondering around the devastated universe, wondering why you wished to seek such a cookie. You fly yourself into a black hole, never to be seen again.