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Please post your vote under comments. Sorry, but I'm just not advanced enough to make a poll on this site yet. I'll get there, though! You wait and see!
And the finalists are:
"This STUFF Matters" and
"Tenaciously Sarcastic Merriment" by A-Muse-ing (changed a little by me for the sake of readers from my CHURCH :P )
"Too Stinkin' Much" by coolchick
"Tenacious Sensational Mamma" By Dawn
"Tidbit Snazzy Myriad" by Erika
"Truth, Sincerity, Madness" by Lara
"Thoroughly Sarcastic Mollification" by Gin
"Today Mommy's Sore" by Bahrageous
and the ever-popular,
"Titillating, Sexy and Mine" by my darling husband, Trest.
There ya go! Good luck! Thank you everyone for participating, and the winner will be announced sometime. In the near future. Really.
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Forever obsessed with movies and movie trivia, I had to search the movie database I love so much because the 15 year old thought he saw the actor who plays Lex Luthor on Smallville, Michael Rosenbaum , during the opening credits of "Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen".
On a side note, I'll have you know that when the 13 year old ran in and squealed, "Look what movie mom got for me to watch!", my husband (the comedian) said "it's a movie about YOU!"
To which my daughter glared that oh-so-special-teenage-dagger-stare and then (without a breath) continued singing the praises of Lindsay Lohan. Apparently one of her movies wasn't enough, because we got "Mean Girls", too.
So we're scanning the info page about this movie looking for Lex (sounds like a new series on the WB-"Looking for Lex"), and lo and behold, there is a STUNT DOUBLE listed for Lindsay Lohan. A stunt-double, folks!
Apparently, the hair-flipping was simply too strenuous, and they had to call in a professional. The scene where she has to do her math homework? Too much. Nosiree she doesn't DO math. Call in the stunt double. But that scene where she downs a bunch of drinks and then goes to rehab? Oh...wait...that's real life. My bad.
I thought I'd take a break from growing my nose hairs (just for today, for I shall return to my duties tomorrow) to diss a tween idol. Just for kicks. Or maybe it's PMS. Either way, it's really not her fault. Not her fault she can't sing either (yells at daughter to TURN. THAT. DOWN. PLEASE.). Sorry, I got sidetracked by the dying cat in the other room.
Who's the mean girl now?
Speaking of MEAN, American Idol is on, and I am a slave to my commercialized reality TV series, so I must go tune the world out until the end credits roll.
If only I was 29 or younger...
PS-SHAME on Fox for making me WAIT for a week for a new HOUSE!!
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I don’t know which is more depressing-that I no longer have time for Guild Wars, or that it’s because I spend my time reading and posting BLOGS. What happened to the carefree days of being lost in imaginary lands slaying epic beasts whilst my children fend for themselves and learn to survive without their mother? Might explain why the 9 year old has learned to make spears out of the sticks left over from corn dogs. Self defense.
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Upon opening my Internet Explorer (to indulge in a little something called BLOGGING), I see splattered across my screen an advertisement for a Newsweek article about the book, "The Secret".
It's a dramatic picture, meant to look like scrolls from Jesus' day, hand-delivered to yours truly. I'm all over it. Yeah, I haven't read the book, either. I'm terribly busy these days. Far too busy to read a book. You would be amazed how much time it takes to brush my teeth. Oh...wait...I haven't been doing much of that lately. Well, my schedule is jam-packed with lots of movie-watching, chair-warming and the occasional yawn. Hectic, I tell you.
Here is an excerpt from the article that I found particularly enlightening...
"If you see people who are overweight, do not observe them, but immediately switch your mind to the picture of you in your perfect body and feel it." So if you're having trouble giving up ice cream, maybe you could just cut back on "The Sopranos" instead.
First of all, HOW did they know I am eating ice cream RIGHT THIS SECOND? Almost makes me want to read Newsweek. Almost.
Second, if I am to avoid looking at people who are overweight, how then, praytell, should I avoid looking in the mirror, for this is yet another habit that takes up so much of my spare time. Time that, apparently, would be better-used reading about this secret instead of pondering my vanity. You see, I'm no small gal, and apparently, I should "not observe" overweight people.
Yeah, yeah...I realize I haven't even read the book and I'm taking it out of context. So what. I won't be reading it anytime soon. You do? Great! More power to you! Just don't observe me...I'd hate to be the reason your last diet didn't pan out. Don't sweat it, though. My last seven weren't particularly successful, but I'm not blaming my next door neighbor. No, siree, the blame rests squarely on the shoulders of my mother. What? I thought we were SUPPOSED to blame our mothers for everything? Oh this is SO confusing!
Truly, I am certain there are many people who are absolutely foaming at the mouth because they love this book so much. Someday, when I find fifteen copies at Goodwill, I'll grab one and leaf through it. It might change my life.
The kicker is, I don't particuarly want to change my life right now, because I'm far too busy growing nose hair and watching my wallpaper peel. Maybe next week.
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Ahhhh, freedom.
Freedom, freedom, free-dom. Saying the word FREEEEEE-dom takes up the time that I would normally use whistling a tune and looking around at my cluttered desk, trashed bedroom and overall dirty house. I'm free to clean it. Free to do the laundry, free to dust. I'm free to take a nap, watch a movie or eat another brownie. I'm free to drink this whole bottle of wine in a hot bath with a great book. I'm free to walk over to hubby and drag him to bed for a nooner. Or, a 2-o'clock'er...I'm free to stand in my front yard smoking cigars and yelling at kids to get off my lawn. Because I would SO do that.
Here's the thing: I'm drowning in freedom, and I'm not alone.
When I was working, I was under rather specific time constraints. I knew how much time it took me to get up in the morning, shower and get ready, then be at work on time (or reasonably soon thereafter). I knew which days I had to rush to get B to soccer and K to youth group. I knew which Saturdays would be taken up by sports and birthday parties, and which weekends I was the worship leader. I expected the busi-ness and knew there would be crazy times. I wasn't completely free to do anything and everything with no commitments.
Now? I make my own schedule. I wake up when I want, stumble around the house in my pajamas (or, naked if I want to) until I decide to shower. IF I decide to shower. I decide if I want to do laundry (nahhhh) or watch a movie (or three).
This freedom is killing me.
Much like a 2 year old testing her boundaries, I find the lack of structure debilitating. I NEED that structure the same way I need my annual gyn appt. Not the most fun, but certainly necessary to keep things in good working order.
Only, rather than my cervix, it's my emotional health that's in jeopardy here. This boundary-less life is suffocating me.
This realization led me to an even more profound thought-it's not just me. It's everywhere.
A whole generation of children is growing up with laxed boundaries and "natural consequences". These kids are flooding the world and workplaces, and are shocked when reality is harsh and rigid. Without someone to tell them that the world is not a kushy joyride, they try to fly and fall flat on their face, sinking into disillusionment. They are then "free" to find outlets for their pain, usually to their detriment.
Another example of toxic freedom?
There was a time (not too terribly long ago) when openly critisizing the leaders of this country was very much like, say, having a baby with your first cousin. Sure, people did it, but they certainly didn't talk about it or advertise it on a bumper sticker. It was frowned upon and at some point, it was illegal. Treasonous.
Now, people are free to express their views on their vehicles for all to see. Everything from profanity to political statements (although, some of them are fabulous) is allowed to be displayed publicly.
In the name of freedom, we have eliminated the neccesity for restraint of any kind, for fear of restricting someone else's liberties.
I don't know about you, left to my own devices I will end up addicted to daytime talk shows (or better yet, TLC!), stalking Keanu Reeves via email and finding myself so large they have to remove a wall to get me out of the house.
There is such thing as too much of a good thing!
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Ok, folks. If you've been here a while, you have a reasonably good idea of what I'm all about. As much as anyone can. So I issue this challenge to you:
What does TSM mean to you? Literally? Please leave comments posting what each letter should stand for as a name to this blog (instead of terrifically superiorily mediocre). Be nice, no profanity please and HAVE FUN!
This is a CONTEST, and the winner might get something. Maybe. If I get off my butt. Eventually.
Good luck!
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I tried to pretend like I was a REAL blogger...an organized, well-liked, humorous blogger with a large following. I tried to do a "weekly thing" like other bloggers do to add merit and believability. And what happened?
Last week I started doing a Thursday Thirteen . This week, Thursday Thirteen is closing its doors. Forever. Coincidence? I think not. Somewhere in Thursday Thirteen-land, someone dug around in the furthest least-viewed archives and found me. TSM. Terribly Sarchastic Me. Trying Sushi More (NOT!). Whatever. We'll come up with a contest for what TSM should stand for later. Along with my other promised posts.
So this TT staff member found my blog and thought, "What is this CRAP? We can't have THIS person linked to us! Think of what people would SAY! OH no no no...this won't do at ALL!" They then proceeded to call a meeting of the powers-that-be at TT to inform them of the amateur wanna-be blogger now trying to sneak into the club. It was voted that rather than subject themselves to my site and comment, asking me to cease and desist, they would simply SHUT. DOWN. THE. SITE.
At least, that's how it happened in my self-involved world.
Therefore, no more Thursday Thirteen for me. Once they realize I'm no longer trying to be one of them, they'll probably put the site back up under a disguised name (so as not to alert me to its existence).
So, in lieu of a TT, I shall list FIVE WEIRD THINGS ABOUT ME for your reading displeasure, tagged by ...so I stabbed him in the head with a fork.
1. I can move my pinky toe completely away from the other four toes. It's freaky.
2. I am a reformed (almost) MMORPG gamer. I have played Ultima Online, Asheron's Call, Dark Age of Camelot, Evercrack...er...Everquest, and occasionally now play Guild Wars. I won't touch World of Warcraft because I know what a weak-willed person I am. You'd never hear from me again.
3. I hate the Beatles. Only ONE song of theirs have I ever liked, and it was average, at best. How very un-American of me.
4. I'm a bit of a movie buff. Others will tell you that I can walk into a room where a movie is being shown, and within a few seconds, say "OH...this is blah blah blah with so-and-so in it". Apparently it's a great party trick. I didnt' see so-and-so's last movie, however, because I was told it got bad reviews.
5. My most surprising celebrity crush? Dennis Leary.
Ok, not completely weird, but the really gritty stuff I'm saving. I don't want to run you off just yet.
So while I'm here, consider yourself TAGGED for the 5 weird things. If you don't have a blog (and dagnabbit, if you don't, why NOT?), please post under comments here what your FIVE WEIRD THINGS ABOUT YOU are.
Because you didn't have enough to do today. Or, rather, because *I* didn't have enough (or anything) to do today.
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I've noticed in the last few days that my mood has made a significant turn toward the dark side. I putt around the house (more like a waddle these days) and have a difficult time engaging myself in anything. Except movies. I can put on a movie or two and watch them all day. That, and read blogs. Oh, Interstellar, how I have enjoyed your archives. Bahrageous, what fun it has been to scour your posts. Jen and Tonic, Hot Toddy (who is VERY hot by the way), Ninja Poodles, my how the list goes on and on. I believe I am currently suscribed to 35 feeds. And the list grows every time I see a great site and follow THEIR links. This blog thing is rather addictive, I do say.
I thought maybe I was feeling grumpy and blue because a "special" visitor was approaching. I don't see her very often, maybe once or twice a year, but her arrival is usually announced by me being extremely irritable and sometimes depressed. I even mentioned to hubby that I might be expecting a visitor anyday now. Sure enough, thankyouverymuch. And not a moment too soon, because I was not at ALL looking forward to some well-deserved intimacy with my husband this week.
So here I am, a snivelling, whiny and lackluster mess, moping around the house when the sun is shining outside.
Here's my problem.
I would love nothing more than to go outside and do yard work in the sunshine all day. I would love to clean my house and open all the windows, letting the pre-spring air rush through the house. I would love to take the dogs for a walk, wash my floors and roto-till my backyard (now that it's CLEAN!).
But I hurt. I ache. I am so damned tired of hurting every moment of every day. There is NEVER a time that my body is not wracked with pain to some degree. My intenstinal tract cannot make up its mind about whether it wants to work like crazy, sending me to the bathroom every 20 minutes, or cease working alltogether. Neither is a good thing.
My husband, sweet man that he is, suggests that exersise is a great solution. Because you might lose some of that fat ass and not only would you feel better but you'd be thinner. Bonus! No, he didn't say that. I said that. Sometimes, though, I think that even with all the research I've forwarded to his inbox, with all the printed pages I've brought home, with ALL the talks we've had about this stupid CONDITION, he still thinks I can "push past the pain" like it were a head cold or a pulled muscle. But I know all too well that if I do so much as walk around (large low-end retail superstore) for more than 20 minutes, I can hardly walk later that night, don't sleep well and find double the pain the next morning.
I pay for any kind of activity. Walking, swimming, biking, breathing. Everyone I meet has suggestions. Helpful ideas to get me feeling better. With all due respect, they don't live with this. I do. They don't wake up every morning, and with each movement be reminded that it wasn't a bad dream, this really is your life now. They don't ache like a 90 year old. They don't take 10 minutes just to get out of bed. They don't cry because they can't stand in front of the sink long enough to do a full set of dishes. They don't, at 34 years old, have to park in a handicapped spot so that they can walk to their car after trying to walk through the grocery store. If they redo their bathroom single-handedly, they don't have to hole up in their house for 2 weeks to recover, all the while enduring a pain that no medicine can touch. I do .
And I'm tired of it.
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I had the chance to read LOTS of new (to me) blogs today, and wasted a good portion of my day immersed in someone else's life. In previous posts , I have lamented that a large portion of the really entertaining blogs out there are run by bleeding heart liberals...er...I mean...people who think differently than I. I do so enjoy reading their witty banter, their funny anecdotes and their critisisms of our president. Oh, wait. Those are kind of offensive. But, HEY! It's not MY blog, right? But THIS is . Therefore I don't have to apologize.
I digress.
(EDIT: PLEASE VISIT THE BLOG LISTED BELOW AND READ THE COMMENT-BATTLE THAT I HAVE...ER...BEEN SUCKED INTO...I SURE COULD USE SOME BACK UP!)
Today, over at Bitch, Ph. D., there was a post regarding THIS BOOK, which uses the word "scrotum". Once. The controversy can be found here.
After remarking that the teachers and librarians didn't want to have to give an anatomy lesson after a child reads this book, the blog author went on to say, "That right there is who they're protecting. Bah. I hate these people." And no, Bah, she wasn't talking to you. I don't think.
After I energetically devoured all 52 comments to this post, I formulated my own. Not one of the commentators disagreed with her. Not ONE. It's just a book. They should allow it. Kids need to not be afraid of body parts . Blah blah blah, et cetera, ad nauseum.
Now, folks, I'm not saying that my child shouldn't know about a scrotum. It is my hope that someday, she'll come to embrace the scrotum just as I have. With love, admiration and a great deal of TLC. Maybe, someday, she'll have one of her very own. However, if she is to learn of this wonderful God-created appendage, I would prefer to be the one she learn it from. Why? Because it's my job .
It is my opinion that folks who support allowing anything and everything to flow, uncensored, into our schools and our children's bookshelves, do so based on the blanket presumption (incorrect!) that ALL parents are no longer initiating education regarding body parts, sex, drugs, and every other vital thing I am responsible for teaching my child. Whereas the percentages of participating parents (say THAT three times fast!) has dropped with 2 income families and working moms, there ARE still parents out there who DO NOT NEED books and movies with body parts and sex education thrust into the hands of our kids to "make sure they learn without being ashamed of their bodies"!
As parents who are aware of our children's specific development and readiness for such information, I think my husband and I should have the option of being the FIRST to introduce them to sensitive topics when we, as parents, decide it is time (most likely after said child walks in on her parents being blissfully in love and remarkably frisky). Not when a well-intentioned teacher sends it home for them to discuss with their parents.
Phew. I broke a sweat. Seriously. I'm out of breath.
I'm not saying this is my new pet-cause. Honestly, I have much bigger fish to fry, and not enough time in the day to devote to single-handedly organizing bonfires at our school libraries nationwide. I'm far too busy picketing Planned Parenthood clinics and preaching abstinence while wearing a white cardigan and my mother's pearls.
Truly, there are many (hundreds) of conservative causes I believe in whole-heartedly. But does supporting pro-life and the right to bear arms mean I am conservative? I am completely against the death penalty. Don't they kick you out of the conservative club for that? It's like, blasphemy or something. Yeah, we'll post about the whole eye-for-an-eye thing another time. With all those other posts I keep promising.
Next week will be the spanking-story-death-penalty-self-injuring-depression-sex-drugs-and-my-wild-teen-years week (let me know if I forgot anything).
So then, if I'm not a true conservative, what AM I?
I'll leave you to think on that, for I have a scrotum to attend to.
It's ok, we're married!
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So we did some maintainence (which means we bought a new computer for our server) and the site was down for a bit. It should be fine now, and faster than ever.
Thanks for your patience!
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As I type this, my background music is not some off the wall jazz rendition with crazy beats and dissonant chords. No. That's the sound of dishes clanking together forcefully enough to almost break them, but not quite. Breaking them, you see, would cause consequences. Almost breaking them makes a point.
The point that corporal punishment is not used often enough in this house.
Granted, the child is 13, and would probably give me a run for my money if I tried to tackle her to the ground and swat her behind, but it sure would make ME feel better. Right. Don't hit when you're angry. And of course, I do have some readers who feel spanking isn't ok. For all of you, I will tell a story someday of the "spanking incident". But not today.
No, today I sing of my daughter. My child. My mini-me. You know that child your mother always said you'd have? The one JUST LIKE YOU? In my world, I was told I would receive tenfold what I gave my parents. I wasn't sure about that...until now. It has begun, and I'm afraid I'm in for a ride.
Some might argue that last year was the start. Last year when my daughter, along with her BFF, decided to liberate some items from the girls' locker room during class. This led me to liberate her cute little butt to juvenille detention center. Oh, they didn't want to do it at first, until I went home and found a box full of items I didn't recognize and turned them into the police department. After tallying up the value, they upped her charge and she spent the night in "Juvy". Don't think that wasn't difficult. Her grades had been dropping and this friend was B-A-D news in every way. I knew this was a golden opportunity-a "teachable" moment. I grabbed it.
After her stay, the friend moved away (prayer WORKS I'm tellin you!) and slowly she has moved away from the angry, moody pre-teen and is tiptoeing into the pretty, popular teen going into her first year of high school. She cuddles with me, yells at me, slams doors, offers to do work for me and play with my hair, and basically keeps me on a roller coaster of emotions daily, sometimes purely for her entertainment, I think. Her grades are all A's and B's now, and I agreed that if she hit a 4.0 at the end of the year, she'd either get a cell phone, or (gasp) her belly pierced. Yeah, yeah, Mom of the Year, remember?
Suddenly, from the other room I hear "OUCH!"...followed by a whiny cry, "Owwwwwwww". I ask if she's alright, no answer. I ask if she needs medical care, "NOT FROM YOU!" she yells. I keep typing, knowing she's probably cut herself and is bleeding in the dishwater out of spite. Now she'll have to start over. *evil laugh*
Sorry, but I don't fall for the ol' "Injury makes me unable to do this work stuff". Limping, puking, missing limbs she will STILL do the dishes. This, of course, means I'll have to get out of my chair because now she's not even in the kitchen anymore.
*sigh*
Wish me luck.
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(BATHROOM EDITION)
1. I have a bathroom (it used to be yucky).
2. Now my bathroom is PRETTY.
3. People poop in my bathroom, and do not leave "Poop Logs".
4. They leave other types of logs, but not any you would want to read.
5. My husband gave me Windows XP for Valentine's Day. It was VERY romantic!
6. He also gave me other VERY INSPIRING gifts that I will not detail here.
7. I did not receive said gifts in the bathroom.
8. I *did*, however, give HH (hot hubby) HIS gifts in the bathroom.
9. They were NOT what you think, you dirty-minded people.
10. After 2 weeks of having a vanity in, but not hooked up (due to the sink being 2 inches further to the right than our previous, smaller sink there were plumbing issues), I solved the problem myself and hooked up the pipes under the sink.
11. I couldn't open the glue, so he had to marvel at the fact that I simply got them together, then open the glue for me, and hey, while you're down there, just go ahead and finish up, would ya babe?
12. I also installed a new ballcock on the toilet.
13. You people have dirty minds.
The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
Get your OWN Thursday Thirteen code HERE!
If you participate, let me know and I will link to you! Here are some links to other Thursday Thirteeners:
Crazed Mom
Strange Dark Gypsy Girl
Petroville
Interstellar Lass
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(Heart-less because they have nothing to do with V-day)
*Do you think that Alan Reed (the voice of Fred Flinstone) ever dated freaks who insisted he use his Flinstone voice in bed?
*Why does the Midol package say "Do not use this product if you have difficulty in urination due to an enlarged PROSTATE..." ...MIDOL?
*If all the really truly HILARIOUS blogs out there seem to be on the liberal side, does that mean I have to convert to be as funny as they are? Where are all the funny right-wingers? Probably reading Dooce and writing legislation based solely on her blog.
*If my cat rubs against my foot during sex, is that considered bestiality?
*If you are married to an identical twin, and you fantasize about your husband, how do you know you're not fantasizing about his twin?
*Why is it that we all swear we will "never be the kind of parents our parents were" and yet somehow end up JUST LIKE THEM?
*Why is it that when I have the TIME to write a great blog, I have no ideas, but when I have a great idea, I'm interrupted a MILLION TIMES? (This would not be the great idea...THIS is grasping)
*Finally, why is it that when I finally have some ideas about what life is about, I'm too old/tired to do anything about it?
Tune in next time for...
"There's a hole in my tooth that can only be filled by you" (sung to the tune of Extreme's "Hole Hearted"
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I am not in the mood for Valentine's Day.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm not blissfully in love with my husband. He still gives me chills in all the right places and makes my tummy turn flip flops when he smiles at me. That's not bad, after ten years.
First of all, I had tacos for dinner. What does that have to do with me being anti-V-day? Well, when I have tacos, they are marinated steak tacos piled with all the fixings and fresh onions. LOTS of fresh onions. I love onions. Onions love me. When I love onions the way I do whilst eating tacos, very few people can stand to be within 10 feet of me, much less love me. The scent follows me for days. Is it a fair trade to give up all love and affection for two days because of a taco or two? Yep, totally worth it.
The second reason I am not in a lovey mood is also taco-related. That large semi-mexican food chain my husband works for is slowly cannibalizing itself, and losing manager after manager because of its decision to add policy on top of policy until the poor people are paid barely more than minimum wage to be a punching bag. My husband oversees the punching bags, and tries to remind them that there is hope. It's dfficult to offer THEM hope when he is straining to see any. They lay down the law and demand specific results, placing procedures in place to make sure they get these results, all the while expecting that the previous thousand procedures will still be completed additionally. The smart ones are already gone. They're being paid 10k more a year to work for a burger chain with less demands and more bonuses. Makes my husband's job of keeping them working hard in his stores difficult. They don't want to work hard to begin with, because they don't get paid enough to do it. They deal with crappy people all day (please don't go up to the counter, tell them your taco has no sour cream and demand a $15.00 grande meal for free). They put up with being told they're not meeting expectations and are kept in fear of their jobs. Eventually, the fear goes away and, so do the employees.
So I have to watch the love of my life, the man I respect most in the world (next to my Daddy) fight SO hard against the current to give these CEO's of this franchise what they're looking for. Each success is topped with loads of arguable failure and action plans to never ever let it happen again. I could give specific examples of how he's been screwed repeatedly without ever even having been bought dinner. Wait...we DO get free food...maybe that counts.
I want to take my husband's resume and forward it to the world, knowing he will be snatched up immediately to do the one thing he's always loved and would forever be satisfied with (besides me, that is). I want to tell him that he's one of the smartest men I've ever met, and how certain I am that something will change and he'll find a light at the end of the taco-tunnel. I want to find a way to sell my music and make millions without having to leave his side, so that he never EVER has to worry about taking care of us again.
Even in the midst of all this, I know that if I can't do any of these things, he will love me and continue working (for us) regardless of how frustrated and hopeless it feels. He will hold me and remind ME that everything will be ok even when it doesn't feel like it, and he's the one who needs comforting. And he will smile at me with that smile that makes me weak in the knees, then kiss me like only he can, warming me to my toes.
Even after I've had tacos.
So, I guess maybe I am in the Valentine's Day spirit.
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Before you leave your jaw open enough to catch insects, let me just say that 1. My husband has no problem with my legs being hairy and 2. I'm no different than half the women in the US during winter. There just isn't any point.
Just as pointless was my day, today. I feel like I accomplished nothing more than remaining in my pj's the entire day. I didn't clean, I barely cooked and I don't believe I brushed my hair or my teeth all day. If you're thinking to yourself, What a joy to come home to SHE must be, let me inform you that HH (hot hubby) is out of town for the evening, therefore I get to neglect my hygeine and sleep on the whole bed. It's the only real benefit of dealing with his absence. Otherwise it's a sad lonely state when he leaves.
I began my day by watching "Crash" on DVD. Wow. It really did live up to the hype. I recommend renting it when you get the chance. After the movie (when I had regained my composure), I sat down to fulfill my pink-duties with some high-profile-makeup-company newsletters. It's like putting together a puzzle and having to move all the pieces until they all fit perfectly. THEN...they ask you to move four of the pieces, which means you have to tear apart the whole puzzle and make it work a different way. It's maddening, but productive. The ONLY productive thing I did today.
I made piggies in a blanket (sorry, Amy!) for dinner with baked beans (out of a can, no less) and a tall glass of ice cold milk. Yes, colder than cold because our fridge works. If you know me, you know that THIS is FABULOUS. We then watched "The Messengers", about ghosts who can only be seen by children. Freaky, but good. Worth a watch. Scared the kids, so I'm guessing I won't get the bed to myself tonight. Blast it.
I think tomorrow I'll shower. Maybe do some laundry. And pretend I didn't sit on my arse all day doing nothing. You think HH will believe me? If I look all gussied up when he gets home? I would LOVE to have the house spic & span for him, but he married the wrong girl for that. The right girl for a lot of other things, but not cleaning. That's why I have kids. So they can bring me wine and wash my dishes. Yeah I'm SO up for that mom of the year.
HEROES is on, so I gotta go. Great show if you've never seen it, TIVO it or something. Really good!
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