I'm sorry for the delay in blogging. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If it makes you feel any better, I had a big St. Patty's Day blog planned out in my semi-vacant brain. It had leprechauns and shamrocks and a recipe for a drink with Irish cream, corn beef (and Guinness), also a photo of me wearing only shamrock pasties and a red beard (run away with that one)...(or not) and every other Irish stereotype you can think about regarding the holiday. I even talked about the history of St. Patrick and how Americans take any celebration remotely religious and make it a secular season of excess potable consumption and debauchery. It was a classic, really. It's too bad I can't have a blog with sound, because I could have totally included a recording of my Irish accent that very much resembles a drunk pirate from the Middle East with a bad lisp.

Alas, I was/am lazy and the aforementioned blog was never even created. So what's new? I'm queen of the slackers. Besides, they say it's the thought that counts and I *thought* about writing it for you. So, there's that.

That's such a crock isn't it? "It's the thought that counts"? That's totally not true. I mean, at least not as far as gift giving is concerned. "I thought about getting you a diamond ring, but instead I just napped. I thought about it though". Super! Can I wear that thought on my finger and brag about it to my friends?? Maybe for Christmas this year, I will just write down some thoughts of gifts on a piece of scrap paper. Then, instead of sending Christmas cards (which I don't even bother with anyway), I will just send you my thoughts. Ooooo, a post card even. With a picture of me on the crapper wearing a santa hat. Yes, yes - this idea is getting better and better. And then on the other side of the card, I will put what I thought about getting you but then never got around to purchasing (or an equally disappointing secondary gift that in no way lives up to the thought itself):

"Merry Christmas & Happy New Year; I thought about getting you wall-to-wall carpeting for your basement. Instead, here's a carpet square I stole from my kid's preschool". Love, Jess.

"I thought about getting you a $200 Gift Certificate to Ruth Chris. Instead, here's a recipe I made up just now for Salisbury Steak". Happy New Year. Love, Jess.

Man, this will be the best Christmas for me, ever. Well, for my wallet, anyway. Not a great Christmas for you though, Chester.

You ever take a shower and then you have to poop not long afterwards and you think "man! What a waste. My butt was clean for like 10 minutes". Yeah, me neither. Ever. I don't ever think that. I probably talk about pooping and farting a little too much for most normal people to handle. But it's seriously a fact of life that everyone does it. Even Angelina Jolie poops. She does. It's hard to picture, isn't it? Cause I know you're trying to imagine it right now (or now you are)... True Story: There was this kids book called 'Everybody Poops' that I first read sometime in high school. I think a friend got it for me as a joke since even back then I was crude and disgusting. At any rate, the book was all about how everyone and everything living in this world poops. It was disturbing, but mostly entertaining. (hey! like every show on Vh1!) I've thought about buying it now for my own kids, but I can't decide if Wesley would like it or think I'm a weirdo. Or he'd laugh and want to take it to show and tell next week at his catholic school. Where (I'm not even kidding) they have a whole list of rules about what you can and cannot bring for show and tell, lest you provoke some child to commit a horrible, horrible sin. You know, nothing with guns or blood/guts... or Satan. There goes half my kids toys right there.

I'm kidding, geesh. He doesn't have anything with Satan. They don't even make Satan toys anymore. Those Bratz dolls came pretty close though.

Man, I'm so glad I don't have any girls. Have you seen the clothes they make for girls nowadays? Everything is super slutty and borderline trashy. I saw a prom dress last year that was a halter top with the ENTIRE BELLY exposed. Really? For a formal? Nothing screams 'I'm losing my virginity' on prom night like a half-bikini ball gown. I hope they sell it with an IUD and an antibiotic. And one of those chastity belts. I'd totally make my daughter wear one of them on prom night (can you imagine *that* argument?). And if she's even remotely cute (which, she would be - come on, look at how gorgeous I am), she's getting some thick braces and bottle cap glasses. Even if she doesn't need them. I'm TOTALLY SERIOUS. So yeah, maybe it's for the best that I have only boys...I mean, I sorta want one so I can play dress up, slather on the make up and do up her hair up like my own personal human baby doll. I mean that in a non-sicko way. But if I were truly being honest here, girls are so caddy and horrible... emotional little monsters. I mean, I know - I was one once. A girl. I mean, I'm still a girl - I'm just an old, old girl. Elderly girl, even. I think you get what I'm saying. At least you would get it, if you would focus on me for a change and stop getting distracted by the shiny stuff near your computer.

Still with me? Oh, goodie.

I probably should get to bed soon. It's taken me two days total to write this blog and it's not even a masterpiece. Today at work we had to 911 an old crazy broad out because she couldn't breathe. She came into the center that way! I swear, people just like to get rid of the crazies they live with, ya know? They're all 'Grandma is so crazy... and she's near death! Send her to that day program so she can die on their watch!!' Which essentially means I'm just passing the buck to the EMTs and the hospital, because - let's face it - once you've done psych nursing for more than a year, you barely know how to open a band-aid without assistance, let alone resuscitate someone back to life. I had to turn the oxygen tank on today and it took me almost an hour (while reading the handy pamphlet provided by the wizards at the oxygen tank company) to do it. Sad, no? I'd be wallowing in my lack of advanced nursing skills if it weren't for the fact that I never again have to do nights or holidays or operate a vent. Or change a poop bag. (Except, you know - for when the time comes and I get my own, I suppose. I'm hoping that by the time I'm in my 100's, they will have invented some magical pill that you can take and the poop will just evaporate before it comes out. It could happen! It could! Hey - wait, how did I get back on the topic of poop?)

If you have any ideas about a blog topic on which I should write, feel free to tell me. And stop yer whining about how you can't leave a comment without signing up, blah blah blah. Just figure it out, ok? Do it for the orphans! Maybe I'll write about Easter next time and keep up the generalized theme of holiday ruins. Easter's my birthday this year, ya know. (So much for subtle hints). Not much time left for gift-buying, so you'd better get on it. And instead of putting a lot of thought into it (see above), just put a lot of cash money into it instead. It says "I care" without the hassle of emotions and love and stuff. You know what I mean....