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....

I should rename my blog 'Food Diaries' or 'Life with Food'. Ooooo, or 'Jess eats too much and has to tell everyone'. That's catchy, no? I often challenge myself to write an entire entry that doesn't in some way mention or refer to food, and I just can't do it. I'm weak, I tell ya. Weak. I mean, check it out - I already ruined this one in the first 5 words. Pathetic. Seriously.

It's Saturday night. You know what that means, don't ya? Well, for me - it doesn't mean a hell of a lot besides a lack of decent nighttime programming. And I don't know why that even matters to me as I rarely get the chance to watch anything in real time these days - I put everything on the DVR instead. This way, I can be reminded every time I put Yo Gabba Gabba on for the boys that I have zero time to even catch up on Cougar Town and Project Runway. And Scrubs. That's about the extent of my DVR viewing. Cougar Town, Scrubs and Project Runway. I recently added the Bravo show about the hair dressers, but I haven't gotten around to watching it yet. I probably won't either. I used to put NCIS on there - but after about a month of them cycling through sans my viewing, I removed that from the schedule.

Mmmmm. LL Cool J. I could lick pudding out of your dimples.

Sorry. I got distracted. Anyway, I was rambling on and on and you were mindless sitting here reading and wondering why you even bother checking out this here blog when you could be doing something way more productive - like waxing your upper lip. You really should you know... that Magnum PI look doesn't favor your cheekbones. Or your vagina.

Vagina actually didn't work so much in there, but I wanted to refer to the mustached person as a woman and it was the only thing I could come up with. I should probably stop taking my Xanex and my Prozac together at night. It makes me a tad loopy.

Which brings me back to my original thought (sorry, ADD) - Saturday night. Yeah, I don't get out much. I don't. And don't let the idea that because it's the night before Valentine's Day that this means something around here. It doesn't. All it means is that I will make heart shaped pancakes in the morning for the boys and I'll probably shave my pubic hair into a heart shape and attempt to dye it a pinkish color. With glitter. You know, for myself to enjoy. Am I sharing too much? I'm joking anyway - I'm not going to shave any shapes into anything on my body. That would be foolish. Besides, I learned my lesson with that fashion no-no in the 90's with an incident we will just call 'lightening bolt side burns'. Nuff said. (I was a big Salt N Pepa fan)...

Still with me? Goodie. I hate when you leave all angry and offended. You shouldn't take everything I say personally in here. In fact, you shouldn't really take offense by anything anyone else says because of the simple fact that people generally suck and what others say and do is really just a reflection of themselves. I tell you this not to educate, but to grill this point into my own head. It's definitely a good lesson to learn. And since I'm being serious here....

You know - as I write this blog - there are still so many people over there in Haiti that continue to suffer as a result of that horrible earthquake they had a few weeks ago? Isn't it funny how fast we are to respond to tragedy with our money, and telethons and everything - and then a few weeks later, we completely and totally forget about it all? Like it never even happened? I mean, I'm not saying EVERYONE has forgotten. I'm sure the people who lost folks over there are still upset. But we've all moved on with our lives. Which, in some ways, is necessary. I get it. I do. But, I still feel the need to go check out the websites and engross myself into the recovery process over there. I don't know what it is about natural disasters of extreme magnitude that intrigue me so... but they do. I was the same way with the Asian Tsunami. And the Louisiana thing. I think I looked at the Tsunami website for almost a year after it happened. I made it my home page. I'm dead serious! I guess I just feel bad. Every time I want to complain about something going on in my pitiful life, I think about how much it would suck to be in Haiti - homeless, hurting, mourning a dead family and probably on the brink of getting Malaria or Hep E (it's real, honest) or elephantitis. There's lots of crap going 'round over there. If you weren't lucky enough to get squished by a building over there, you probably will contract HIV or Dengue fever from living in a camp with a bunch of other dirty, homeless victims. Depressing, no?

At any rate, I'd really like to go help out over there. Or not even there, really. But somewhere. I guess a part of me feels like I'm able to use my hands, and my brains (I have a little)... I'm certainly not overly privileged, by any stretch - but I'm not down and out. Why shouldn't I use what I have to help others who need it? Do you know how many American's died because they were over there helping out the Haitians when the earthquake struck? A lot! Am I the only one inspired to go do something now for others? Maybe I'm just blowing smoke out of my ass. I don't know. It's not like I can just pick up and go to another country. I *did* just get a new job. I *am* solely responsible for my children when my manboy husband decides to play video games all night. I *guess* I'm technically poor and in a large amount of insurmountable debt that I can't seem to pay off. But you know - I'm just putting it out there. Could be something as simple as helping a neighbor... I'm just sayin. Not enough of that in this world. Too many selfish, gluttonous, greedy people who are all out for themselves. You know who you are.

I'll get off my soap box now and stop lecturing. That's not why you came here, so my apologies. Sometimes I feel the need to go off on a tangent and I appreciate your sticking around and putting up with it. Seriously. You're the best pretend friend a blog could ask for. Happy Valentine's Day one day early.... Even though I think it's a lame excuse for a holiday and even though tomorrow will, no doubt, be just like every other Sunday this year - long, boring and a precursor to a busy work week - I still feel the need to say it. I love ya.

Now go get some sleep. Those bags under your eyes are scaring the children.

I'm not anti-love. Let me just state that now for the record. I'm all for loving others, being loved, making love, talking about love, professing love.. even the word LOVE itself has a romantic way of taking up space. Something about the way the L and the O go together. Nonetheless... my feelings about love have nothing to do with February 14th. No. No. And it's not because I'm single and jaded (although, I might as well be). I just think celebration of love should be something that happens on a daily basis and not something that people work up on one day of the year as if neglecting love the other 364 days is somehow okay. It's not. You reading this husband? IT'S NOT. Eh, who am I kidding. My husband doesn't read my blogs.

I guess I'd like V-day a lot more if I had a better relationship with my husband/roommate. Lately, the only thing that interests him is playing some blood-filled game on the Playstation 3 while petting our cat and ignoring me. (Petting the cat somehow seems dirty here so I should clarify that by "petting the cat", I mean he is actually PETTING our CAT. You blog readers have such filthy minds). I guess our first Valentine's Day together should have clued me in to his celebratory ways - I got nothing. Nada. Zilch. Of course, it could have been the delusion of having just birthed our first child (conceived, I might add - after only a month of dating), or perhaps (more likely the two) - he's just not that sentimental. So be it. I guess I should learn to live with his idiosyncrasies and move on. Sigh. As if it were that easy. ...

But I'm certainly not here to divulge all my relationship woes. That would be a private blog and a much longer blog and a much sadder blog and those things just aren't my style. I'd much rather write about stuff that makes you laugh and makes me forget about all the things that ail me this day and age. Which brings me back to the title of this here writing - Valentine's Day. A chance to sell candy and stuffed animals and large red hearts to people we want to impress, get with or otherwise woe. Oh - and those god-awful little heart shaped candies that taste like ass. What's up with them? They're seriously nasty. Like circus peanut-nasty.

Back in the day when I wrote blogs on a more regular basis on facebook, I had a blog for Valentine's Day enriched with greetings for Valentine's Day cards that were somewhat out of the ordinary. People posted with their own additions and it made for a much more joyous and celebratory time for all. Of course, I abandoned Myspace a long time ago when I realized that it wasn't where the 'cool' people hung out and now I couldn't tell you where that literary masterpiece has gone. It's lost forever, I assume. But most of the fanciful prose is still trapped up inside my brain right next to the section with Seinfeld quotes and old lyrics to Air Supply songs. Luckily for you, that's a section I can access pretty easily. Here goes...

Rejected (and some anti-love) Valentine's Day Card Greetings:

"To my dearest of Moms on this Valentine's Day, I love you a bunch. Oh, it turns out I'm gay"
(You probably were already suspicious!)

"On This Day of Love, Wife... Please Remember Just That. I Drove Home Sorta Drunk & Ran Over Your Cat" (I'm sorry!)

"I love you so much, this passion holds true. It's too bad you're 11 and I'm 42" (Maybe I'll see you in 7 years?)

"This V-day is filled with a passion so heated, you probably won't mind if I tell you I cheated" (with your sister!)

"Roses are Red and so is my truck. Mind if we go out there for a ...... pleasant conversation?" (Yeah, so it doesn't rhyme)

Seriously... I could do this all day. I could probably even come up with some that aren't even close to funny. Nonetheless, a weekend (and Monday) filled with a house of vomiting and diarrhea (some me, some my children) has created a new form of tired within my bones. I should go rest. Lest I go to work tomorrow and take my anger out on some poor innocent crazy patient.

Plus, you need your beauty sleep. Oh, trust me. You do.

Oh - for those of you interested in my weight loss endeavors, I'm now the lowest weight I've been since having my two children. My next goal will be to get down to the lowest weight I've ever been in my life - which was when I ran the Baltimore Marathon in 2001. Seriously. Running all those miles does numbers for the scale. Well, you know - lowers numbers. You know what I mean. It was a poor choice of metaphor.