I totally forgot to update this! I took this picture the day before the baby birds finally flew away. I was sad to see them go, but glad to not wake up to incessant chirping in the wee hours of the morning!
I took this next one through the screen of one of the bathroom windows so it's not as clear but it's from a different angle so you can see their little bird mouths.
We haven't had any different kinds of birds move in yet, but I will be all over them with my camera if they do. Usually we get doves after the robins leave, which are my favourites!
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
I started my second season of roller derby on Sunday. I know that I'd meant to write more about it during last season but like anything you love this much, you want to protect it. To foster it and keep it safe from the rest of the world, while simultaneously wanting to shout from mountain tops about your love for it. Yet no words could ever come close to the actual reality.
That, my friends, is how much I love roller derby.
As someone who has always felt weak in my personal life, being able to put on some skates (and knee pads, elbow pads, wrist guards, helmet and the dreaded mouth guard), to get out there and have the chance to be strong and to be aggressive... The feeling is indescribable. I can't count the number of ways that derby has changed me.
I've never been athletic, to put it mildly. I'm a "lay down and read a book" person. Oh, the lengths I went to in order to evade my dreaded nemesis: sweat. I have sweat so much during practice that I've had rivulets rolling down my butt crack, y'all. And I didn't mind! I've worked out so hard that I had to swallow down puke. I've strained *parts* that I didn't even know were possible to strain. I've been bruised, bloody, aching, muscles shaking, parched, thinking that I couldn't possibly continue on... but I've kept going. I've given it one more lap, one more plank, one more drill, more, more, more. A hard way to find out that you're a fighter, but a lesson well learned.
I've always been self-conscious of my "thunder thighs", my "mothering hips", my broad shoulders, thought I had too much booty. I've referred to my body type as "chunky hourglass", I've abused it, have taken it for granted, have not cared about it as I should. But you know what? My thighs are strong for skating. My hips and ass are perfect for blocking and for pushing other bitches out of my way. My shoulders can carry a lot of weight both literally and figuratively. How is it that I made it to the age of 31 and am only now figuring out that I can be positive about my body and not only just accept it, but celebrate it?
This body is a temple now. I feed it right, I stretch it, I exercise more than just my brain and my mouth, I take what could be considered a meal of vitamins every day to make sure that my bones are strong for when they impact with the concrete floors that I skate on. Heck, I'm even ex-foliating and moisturizing more often! This body is going to last me for the rest of my life, God-willing, and it's going to be involved in roller derby for as long as it can keep up.
So you can maybe begin to understand now, how good I feel and how I want to just keep that to myself for a while before I let other people in?
That's all, (but there's so much more)
Twills
XOXO
My first house was put on the real estate market today. I have mixed feelings about this; I'm ready to move on, I'm ready to not be paying the bills there plus the bills where I am currently living. I will feel peace in knowing that there is yet another loose end that I'm tying into a neat little bow. Still, I can't help feel a little twinge of melancholy.That house was the dream of a 23 year old spoiled princess. My small family of three moved in when I was full of idealistic folly with no real concept of homemaking whatsoever. How long it took me to learn how to manage laundry, toddler wrangling, scrubbing toilets and how not to turn everything in your pots and pans to sludge with one moment of inattention? Oh, the glamourous life of a House Milf! How many hours did I spend doing loads of laundry, bleary-eyed but accompanied by an OCD-like precision with an all-consuming fierceness in regards to wrinkle control? It took me years to be able to feel like I wasn't just "playing house".
Two of my babies were conceived and took their first steps there. The growth of my three boys was charted on one of the walls for seven long years. Cupcakes, dance parties, organic vegetable and herb gardens, wine and tea and always, always a place to stay for a stray friend in need for as long as was necessary. Every wall, every door, every patch of floor has its own story. The house that love built.
It's also the house of pain. The house of loneliness so crippling that even certain members of The Wiggles appeared to be sexually attractive. The house of unhappiness, of immaturity, of two people struggling and failing. It's also the house where love went to die.
I'm ready to pass my house on. Furthermore, after standing empty for nearly nine months, my house is ready to be loved again; to contain and foster love within its walls. The house that built me is ready to build another family. Our blood, sweat and tears can now become someone else's dream.
I went in wide-eyed and with a great belief in forever. I am coming out not quite a seasoned veteran, and still not yet jaded. My eyes are wide-open, sure; just not with the same naiveté. I still have a great hope for the future, it's just that I'm looking in a different direction. It feels good.
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
My baby boy had a birthday yesterday. Four years old. It seems like only yesterday that my cousin called me to ask why I was so late, and I told her that it was because I was in labour a week early. I do know that one day I'll wake up alone, hearing the ghost of little baby feet tip-toeing into my room for an early morning snuggle and realise that they're all grown up and gone; living their own lives.I'll remember how he always loved to see me wearing a dress and red lipstick, and how he always made sure there were at least two stuffed animals in my bed before he went to sleep, so that I wouldn't be lonely. How he always asked me if I wanted help "downloading" the dishwasher, and also how much he loved trying to find matches for all of the socks in the dryer. His mysterious Texan accent that I have no idea how he acquired...
Four years old. Not a baby anymore, but my baby. My last baby. They're growing up, and I have too. I don't know what the future holds, of course. I still have the biology to have more children but for now, this is my life; my entire universe. At 27 years old, my child-rearing years were fulfilled. Both a blessing and a curse.
"I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet." -- John Adams
All that I can do is my best. Keep fighting the fight; be a warrior. When times are hard, I remember that I live for them. That I do what I do, I have hard times, I stumble and sometimes I fall; sometimes I fail miserably; but I do it all so that their lives may be better. So that they can have the opportunities I didn't; so that in many ways, their lives will be easier. God-willing, they won't have to go through some of the things that I went through.
I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet.
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
I've been trying to come down out of an avocado haze. Guacamole is my latest vice, especially since avocados have been so readily available lately. This following video? So true! They're evil!
I blogged a recipe over at my other blog found here, with step one of what I'm going to do to lose my Frosh 15.
And by Frosh 15 I mean winter-fluffiness caused by Netflix, guacamole, Tostitos and agoraphobia.
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
When the exodus from MySpace to Facebook happened, I lost contact with nearly every one of my "Friends" and have missed their blogs ever since. One of these former MySpace bloggers, Dana, has come up with a brilliant idea to try to get us all organised again. To revive our abandoned blogs and spend less time playing those time-suck Facebook games. Even to delete our accounts if possible. I've scaled down my FB use significantly lately, but I won't delete it because I have a lot of family members there that I don't get to see often enough and it helps us to catch up with one another.
I have been wanting to start writing again for a long time now, I just needed a push. Thank you, Dana, for doing this for all of us. She has compiled a list seen here. If you would like to join us in blogging more regularly, drop her a note and she will add you to the list. I intend to subscribe to everyone on the list, though I know that I haven't exactly been *ahem* even reading blogs either. I know! I'm awful! In fact, that's going to be my New Year's Resolution. Read and write more blogs. Also, if you have a blog and I am not subscribed to it, leave your url in the comments section for me. Pretty please?
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
I've adapted a recipe from the cupcake bible: Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World, but as usual I don't make it vegan because my son is allergic to most of the vegan substitutes for butter and milk. We just won't tell the vegans that I do this, because I don't want to get lynched. I also added some extra stuff and took liberties with the method. Here is a photo of my ingredients before I started:
First thing, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. I'm bad at remembering to do this. Then get a big bowl and whisk together one cup of milk and one teaspoon of apple cider vinegar (use this kind just because it's more mild). The milk will get chunky, which is good. You can also use milk that has already gone chunky! The best cupcakes I ever made were baked with some old-ass coconut milk that I had neglected at the back of the fridge. Would I drink it on it's own? Hell no! But for baking it's pure GOLD.
So while you're letting that curdle for about ten to fifteen minutes, you can mix the dry ingredients together: 1 and 1/4 cup cake and pastry flour; 2 tbsp cornstarch; 3/4 teaspoon baking powder (you must use Magic brand because most others suck); 1/2 teaspoon baking soda; 1/2 teaspoon salt; the zest of one lemon.
A note about zesting a lemon. Wash the damn thing first, I scrub them too because some stores put wax on them. The zester that I have is from Lee Valley and it is worth it's weight in gold, but cheese graters usually have a semi-useful zester stuck on one side.
Then you can whisk in the other wet ingredients with the funky milk mixture: 1/3 cup canola oil; 3/4 cup sugar; 2 teaspoons vanilla extract (for eff's sake, get some good stuff and not imitation!); 1/2 teaspoon pure lemon extract.
Then you can whisk the dry stuff into the wet stuff, or use an electric mixer if you want. It should resemble this:
Pour it into those paper thingies that you put in the cupcakes pans, about 2/3 full. Any more full and they'll overflow and will be a bitch to work with. Use the shiny metal pans instead of the dark, non-stick ones if you can. If you only have the dark ones, decrease the heat to 325 degrees instead of 350 because they'll cook faster and might burn on the bottom.
Bake them for about 18 to 20 minutes, or until they get a little brown on the edges, the tops are cracked and they smell like heaven. I was kind of messy when I was filling the cups because I was trying to fend off the three year old from sticking his hands/face/tongue into it... but you get the idea:
These don't rise as high as cupcakes from a box, but that's because they're so much better than from a box and they don't have eggs in them. But the flatter top is better for piling icing on!
The ingredients for icing:
The syrup might be a bitch to find right now because the factory is on strike. But here is their website. I bought mine back home in Newfoundland, but I've also seen it in Walmart, Zellers, and Price Chopper. Anyone else who is not in Canada or who can't find this stuff can get some raspberry syrup from a barrista or Americans can just get some here. It's not the stuff that you'd use on waffles, it's the stuff you'd use to flavour drinks. Got it?
Cream 1/4 cup of butter with 1/4 cup of vegetable oil shortening. You'll need electricity for this part because you really have to beat the fuck out of icing to get it to mix really well. ;)
With a fork, mash in about 1 and a half cups of icing sugar until it looks all crumbly. Otherwise if you try to use your electric mixer it'll make icing sugar fly all over the place.
Now you can beat in slightly less than four tablespoons of raspberry syrup, about 1/4 teaspoon of lemon extract, and 1/4 teaspoon of lemon juice from the lemon that you just scalped earlier.
If you don't like the consistency, beat in extra icing sugar one tablespoon at a time until it feels right. You can taste along the way as well just to make sure. :)
So today I just quickly made these so I could take the pictures:
But if you wanted to get really fancy, you could always put your icing into a piping bag and swirl it on top of your cupcakes like I did last time:
I added simple dragées for decoration, and they looked pretty and tasted hella good. Any questions?
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
I realise that this may be boring for most of you who aren't into clothes and shoes and blogs that don't have bad words in them (I don't mention dicks once!), but I started a new project. One which caters to my narcissistic side even more so than what I do here, in which I take pictures of myself wearing clothes. 30 items, 30 days. No freaking shopping for 30 freaking days. *gasp* If anything it will challenge my ideas on consumerism? My apologies to the serious-writer type friends, I'm trying to keep the words to a minimum over there.
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
Warning: Girl Screams ahead!
I have just realised a dream of mine within the past few weeks. I've always been the type to discourage myself, and to harbour a defeatist attitude when it came to doing the things that I really wanted to do. Perhaps it's partially a self esteem issue, partly laziness, I don't know. The only thing I do know is that it took a teenager from England that I haven't even met in real life to shake me up and tell me, "If you really want to do that, then you can find a way to do it." This was just the sort of kick in the ass that I needed, and from an unexpected source.
So I did it.
I joined a roller derby team.
*squeal!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!* <--girl scream
If you don't know what exactly that entails, it happens to be a lot of this:
And no, I'm not just doing this to have a valid excuse to wear fishnets and a tutu all the time, because my tattoos will fit in better in that type of environment, or even to meet hot lesbians. It's not just because I want to shop more often at Sock Dreams, though I admit that's good incentive. ;) Do you know how hard it is to find *my kind of people*? I know I've found a good many on the internet, but I think I may have actually finally found some in REAL LIFE, and that *maybe* I'm not such a freak after all! (Though I think I'll always be freaky. Rawr!) But seriously, *my* kind of people?
*squeal!!!!!!!*
If you could suffer through Drew's insipid lisp to get the gist of what she was trying to say, she actually had it right. Roller derby is intensely physical, even dangerous! Those bitches make me feel wimpy! It's about female empowerment; it's about being accepted for who you are regardless of age, body type, ethnicity, education or socioeconomic background. You can be a newly separated mother of three with stretch marks and an ass that just won't quit and still be a roller girl! In fishnets!
*squeal!!!!!!!!!*
So in a week and a half I start my vigorous eleven week training camp. I have no idea who is going to be watching my kids, or how I'm going to cope with sweating my ass off and still have to commute one hour each way all the while craving a shower like a common wharf doxy, but that's okay. Those things I will deal with as they come. The important thing is that I pursued a dream of mine, and I alone am making it a reality. If I end up crushing every bone in my body I'll be a happy, broken bitch when I'm in traction. That's something I can feel good about for the rest of my life. Now if I could just stop gagging and puking every time my mouth guard is in, I'd be all set... Pointers?
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
If you're looking for humour or snark, you're not going to find it here right now. I've been feeling particularly good lately, the sun is shining, I've even been unable to find things to rant about. I first became interested in this "Joyful Meditation" blog idea because my e-friend Nanea used to write them often on that *other* social networking site that we used to be so *spacey* about. I don't have anything to link her to, but you can try this, the link to her Etsy Shop. Go there and buy stuff!
I've been thinking of doing these "Joyful Meditation" blogs for about a year or two since I first saw Nanea's version way back when, then Megan from Whistling Up the Road reminded me with her recent blog posts. At this point my joy can not be contained; it must be shared. Ideally, I would write these at night after reflecting on the day that I've had. I think that for me, I will try to do them each week for now because I am neither diligent nor consistent in any way. So you start off by listing five good things about your day/week, three things you have done well, and two things you are looking forward to. And yeah, it'll probably be Fridays, because everyone knows that that's the real end of the week, that weekends don't count, and Monday is the first day of the week.
1. I'm always amazed that I have such great kids. They play well together, they're smart, they love good music and not just pop music and shit they hear on the radio, and they always love to eat raw vegetables. They have manners! They are filled with compassion and kindness. Seriously, sometimes I don't know how a snarky bitch like me ended up having such well-behaved children. (most of the time)
2. I'm so thankful for my dad. He goes above and beyond what is expected of a father, even when he's not physically present. Even when I call him from halfway across the country in tears, he's there for me. I'm so thankful to have him for my father.
3. Love. I have a lot of love in my life right now.
4. Naps are just fucking awesome. I am loving that I get to take a lot of naps because it's summer and I don't have to be anywhere.
1. I have a definite lack of booty shorts in my life, but the two that I do own and wear only around the house when it's hotter than hell are now way too big. This leads me to the conclusion that my ass is shrinking, because of reason two.
2. I can now ride my bicycle 12K, which is my favourite route, fairly easily. I need to find a new route soon so I can go further. But last week? I clocked in at 60 K total, which makes me feel good. And stronger.
3. I had a birthday recently and I didn't even freak out.
2 things I am looking forward to:
1. My dad has been at home in Newfoundland on vacation since June. He'll be coming back next week, and I'm so glad because 1) I miss him; and 2) I'm so sick of the kids asking when he's going to be coming home.
2. I am looking forward to just enjoying each day as it comes and living more in the moment with no time and no destination, because that's really what makes summer the most fun. I want the second half of summer to be as great or even greater than the first half was.
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
It's around this time of year that I start to really dislike White People. White People, you suck! Yes, I am *technically* also a White Person, but I tend to fall on the darker side of white. Inevitably, in the spring and summer I tend to tan quite well. I become so dark, that it seems that White People can't contain themselves. The questions start; the darker I become, the more questions I receive."What nationality are you?"
@#$%!!!!!!!!
"If I had a dollar for every time someone has asked me that in my life, I'd have enough money to buy your pasty white ass for my slave, mofo!"
Okay, so no, I don't really get to say that. But how awesome would it be if I did? *vows to remember to say that next time*
Not only are White People so audacious as to ask what nationality I am, if I choose to just tell the truth and say that I'm a Canadian, or go further and say that I'm a fucking W.A.S.P., they can't be satisfied. Said White People can't take that for an answer. They need to suggest nationalities for me.
"You look like you're East Indian."
"No, she looks like she's Italian."
"I think you could pass for Greek."
"I have a friend from Singapore who looks like you!"
"Are you sure you're not Jewish?"
Ooh, and my own personal favourite, "Are you sure he's your dad with that red hair and freckles? Was your mother overly fond of the milkman? Bwahahahaha!!!!" Yes, because apparently calling my mother a straight up ho who would pass off my questionable paternity onto her unsuspecting husband is sooooo totally hilarious.
Argh! It's taken me a lot of years to become comfortable in my skin. A lot longer than it should have taken, as far as I'm concerned, and I work hard to make sure that I stay that way. I have come to love my "brown skin", and I've almost forgotten the teasing I had to endure when I was younger on account of not being "white enough" for the other white people. I take pleasure in the idea that I look "ethnic", and that I can travel to many other countries and just blend in with the locals.
I am able now to laugh when people ask me the 'nationality' question, and have great fun telling them lies. Currently, I'm from Sweden. If they're going to be so rude as to ask me such a question, then I am not going to feel bad about deceiving them.
Hej, älskare!
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
Both kids came home from school yesterday with a flower pot. Inside was a seed from a scarlet runner bean, and it was in honour of Earth Day. They watched a movie about the Earth and talked about things they would do on Earth Day in order to help the planet. Well aren't we twee?!! One day per year, we get to care about the planet. Don't even mention to the little kiddies how we should be doing this shyte every day that we are blessed enough to breathe whatever clean air is left on this earth. Why aren't we drilling this into their heads every single day? Or better yet, leading by example?
All this week they've been encouraged to send them to school with a "litterless lunch". Litterless lunch sucks donkey balls! In our family, we don't watch much tv, we dry our clothes outside in fine weather, we eat nearly everything home made and grow a lot of our own food in the summer. We voluntarily walk to places we need to get to. It almost makes me puke every time I go near it, but we have a compost pile as well! We even have an all-consuming, manic passion for recycling. If one didn't notice how groomed our armpits are, one could actually accuse us of being "hippies"*.
To me, litterless lunch is a huge smack in the face. School lunches are about the only things in our house for which we use packaging, or single-sized servings of anything. Even then, only rarely do we do such things because our kids eat like fiends and need mass quantities. If I were to load them up with water bottles and storage containers every day for school, they'd need a separate backpack to hold organic carrots alone! Seriously!
As it was, all this week their backpacks were so heavy. I couldn't manage to jam the zippers shut on their lunch bags because their reusable containers take up too much room. I swear, the middle kid was unbalanced all the way to school in the morning. I kept having to shove him from behind when we were walking up hills so that he didn't topple over, roll down the hill and land in a sodden heap of sandwiches and orange juice at the bottom.
I've been hearing radio announcements all day suggesting things like, "Hey fat fuckers, today it's Earth Day, so how about you recycle that soda can instead of chucking it into the nearest garbage bin, only to have it stay there for several million years polluting the earth for the children you can't have since you've gone sterile from eating so many TV dinners?". They may have used slightly nicer language, but the same sentiment is there.
One day, one week, one month or a year even, is not enough. We should be doing this shit every single day that we are alive. We owe it to our children and other peoples' children, even if you're like me and don't like other peoples' children. Heh. Just kidding.
But not really, because they're bastards.
Our family is not perfect. Shocking, I know! We still have a great deal of room to improve. However, being more environmentally conscious is something that's very important to us. It should be important to everyone, quite frankly. I suggest that instead of having an Earth Day, how about we have an Earth Life? Devote your entire life, change your entire way of thinking and living, and just do little things like walking to the corner store, use cloth shopping bags, eat less meat, buy local produce from farmer's markets or grocery stores, shop once in a while at a thrift or consignment store, or reuse something several times before you recycle it. The list goes on, but other people are better at it, so here are some links:
Teach your children well.
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
*Twills is aware that there are many hippies that do not have hairy armpits and that stereotypes are wrong, even when they're funny.
I took my son to his first rock concert last week, as we had bought him tickets for Christmas. I knew that the tickets were for him, but in reality I really, really did want to go. It had been so many years since I'd been to a concert that I can not for the life of me remember which one it was, and I actually do really like the band that we went to see. We go to outdoor music festivals a lot in the summer with our kids, but they're more the kind of thing where you'd see people wearing either tie-dye, mullets, or both. This was going to be mayjah.Several things have changed since I last went to one of these shindigs, though. Well, this concert was geared mainly towards teenage girls and tweens with parents in tow. When I was a teenager I was more used to the types of venues where they frisk you on the way in for illicit firearms, shanks, drugs and/or alcohol. They did check my handbag, for which I apologised, mom-like, for it being so messy.
Some things have not changed. Teenage girls scream really farking loudly. They don't wear very many clothes. They will cut a bitch for the opportunity to rub up on the lead singer when he comes near the crowd. They almost always dance, and know all the words to all of the songs. Some of them sweat profusely and smell like armpits when they wave their hands over their heads. You will leave a concert thinking you've caught the plague from all of the sweaty germs and your ears will buzz for a week. Or is that just me?
We had floor seats, which I thought would be good because we were fairly close to the stage, but it's not good if you're nine and the teenager in front of you is 6'2". Note to self: When buying concert tickets for short people, no floor seats. I didn't mind Tall Stuff being in front of him so much, because every time a beach ball or a bottle of water (we'll get to this later) hurled towards my baby's face, Tall Stuff would inadvertently act as a cloaking shield for him. He did take short shifts standing on his chair to see better, because the teenager behind him told him that she didn't mind. So yes, some teenagers are really nice. There is hope for the world after all.
Remember how people would wave their lighters around during slow songs? Well nowadays they tell the kids to take out their cell phones and digital cameras to wave those around. That, and instead of saying, "Buy our album", they say, "Go home and download our album, burn it from a friend or pirate that mofo because as long as you're listening to our music we're happy". I'm sure their bank accounts are quite happy, also.
The entire time, I kept thinking back to when I used to attend a lot of concerts when I was a teenager. How I used to love boys in bands. Punk bands, mostly. Remember how your parents would be horrified if you brought home a boy with baggy pants and an earring? I can just imagine how horrified my father would have been had I brought home boys with flat-ironed hair, skinny jeans and eyeliner. Jeesh!
Not to mention how the three opening acts had songs about throwing your hands in the air, and waving them as if you just don't care. Years! Years, we've been listening to different variations of throwing your hands in the air and waving them like you just don't care. Is it possible that this phenomena is not entirely played out by now? Could it have been cool to raise your hands in the air and wave them like you just don't care throughout the eighties, nineties, and today? Classic, yes; but how great is their sense of entitlement to think that they have the ability to improve on such a classic? Ah, youth.
I did feel like getting all Mom on their asses, though. Every time a band member would finish with a guitar pick or drumstick, they'd toss them into the audience. They'd take a sip out of a water bottle, and toss those into the audience, too. One sip! Would it kill them to reduce, reuse, recycle?!! I swore to myself that if a water bottle was hurling toward my son's head and Tall Stuff didn't end up taking it in the head first, then I was going to sue their asses! As for us, we paid six bucks for a bottle of water that they then poured into a giant paper cup. Bottles are life threatening, apparently. Not to be used without supervision. If I'd known they were going to give me a paper cup regardless, I would have rode their asses and told them to give me tap. Mama recycles, yo. *throws up gang signs*
See how hip I am? Mama is down. Recognize.
That's all,
Twills
XOXO
Part Two, which will come to you later: How I accidentally found myself wanting to rip the clothes off of the incredibly young lead singer and ravage him like a cougar and the only thing that stopped me was The Child.
Zen: Mama your hair so nice.
Twills: Thank you, baby.
Zen: Your hair so nice and it's wild.
Twills: You mean curly? Because I didn't straighten it today?
Zen: Yeah, your hair is curly ta-day and it's wild. Yeah, your hair is wild and you have a fro.
Twills: Mm-hmm. *It's not a fro! It is not!*
Zen: You have hair like Willy Wonka, but not when it's wild.
Twills: Pardon?
Zen: Willy Wonka hass red hair and your hair black, but you also can have Willy Wonka hair.
Twills: Do you mean when I have bangs? Because Willy Wonka has bangs?
Zen: Yes. You hass bangs and Willy Wonka hass bangs.
*Puts hands in hair*
Mama? Willy Wonka not have wild fro, Willy Wonka is womanizer.
Twills: Pardon me? What did you say?
Zen: Willy Wonka a womanizer.
♪♪♪ Womanizer womanizer oh womanizer oh you a womanizer baby ♪♪♪
Twills: Zen? What do you mean about Willy Wonka?
Zen: Willy Wonka hass red fro and Willy Wonka a womanizer. He likes ladies. He likes their boobs.
Twills: *face|palm*
Zen: ♪♪♪ You you you are! You you you are! Womanizer womanizer you're a womanizer baby! ♪♪♪
Twills: Oh, far too much Britney.
Zen: Mama, you put on Womanizer for me please?
* bats eyelashes *
Here you go, Zen. Enjoy.
