I feel guilty that I haven't been blogging as regular as I used to. Not because it's hurting you, my bored and needy blog reader - but mostly because I enjoy to write in here so much. It breaks up my night and fulfills a desire to use big words that I can't use face-to-face on account of surrounding myself with idiots most of the time.

Don't worry. I don't mean you. I mean some other idiot. Ahem, moving on.

Today is Easter. This doesn't really hold a lot of meaning for me aside from finally giving into my Lent sacrifice (no Brussel Sprouts, it was torture) and an opportunity to remiss about memories of Easter past. And really that second part is a lie - because really the only memory I have is one from the 80's of getting an Easter basket with a Debbie Gibson tape in it. Lame I know. Seems to me that Easter is just another Christian holiday stolen by the gluttonous bastards at Hallmark trying to make a buck by secularizing everything and forcing you to spend gobs of your hard-earned money on shit that is bad for you. I think today alone I ate about ten pounds of chocolate. Let me also state for the record that I don't get Easter baskets anymore and the candy that I ate was mostly stolen from the stock I bought for my boys and from leftover "snacks" I packed on the airplane for Arizona. I'm ashamed at myself. My eating has gone from bad to badder to worsest. It's disgusting. I must try to get back on track lest I become one of those fatties at the pool wearing a swim dress and a barrel to hide my flab.

Like this girl even:


I mean, the 1920's (ironically enough, long before the portion size in this country got out of control) - they had the right idea. More fabric and less skin. And an ugly ass head wrap/bonnet too. In case seeing your hair might possess someone to have sex with you (before marriage!) right at the pool. I'm bringing this look back in a bad way. Don't be mad you didn't think of it first... while everyone else is wearing thongs and takinis, I will be sporting my chunkadunk bod in a 1922 edition bathing suit. Only minus the umbrella. Need both my hands to hold my cigarettes and my cheese steak sub. Moving on....



So yeah last week I went to Arizona. It's so beautiful there. Warm. Nice. Less bums. Less surprise snow storms. More trees. Family members that actually give a crap about my children. You know, stuff you take for granted in normal life. I actually looked up nursing jobs over there and apartments. I just think it would benefit my children, really. And my Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Don't laugh. I really do have that. You're so mean.

I've recently discovered that no matter how much you try, you can't fake feelings. Good or bad, negative or positive - you feel what you feel when you feel it. Ya feel me? Of course, you could live your whole life repressing said feelings in hopes that the truth will never surface and you never have to present yourself as the homosexual/serial killer/cross dresser that you are on the inside. But really - only you know how you feel about something or someone. I'm so tired of other people giving me advise on what's best *for me*. Or telling me statistics. Or using their own reference or story to pigeonhole it for the rest of us. I'm confusing you, I can tell. I guess what I'm trying to say is I try not to follow any real standard set of guidelines when it comes to what to do about my relationships in life. Growing up, all I saw was bad relationships between my father and mother, my stepfather and mother - my own boyfriends (some of them anyway). And you know, you can't let other people be your guide to your own happiness... you have to create it yourself. And if it means breaking a conventional rule - or going against what might seem rational - so be it.

I'm not making any sense. See this is why I don't try to get serious ever on my blogs. I should stick with things I know - humor, making fun of myself and meatloaf recipes. Oh - and quotes from 80's John Hughes movies.

Well, folks my battery is near death and I have you to blame. And all of the Asian pornos I was downloading in the background. Guess my multi-tasking has caught up to me. I am off of work tomorrow so I will be chilaxin' around the house, digesting rabbit shaped candy and trying to find a new place to live come July. Hopefully something with a yard and no downstairs neighbor to piss off/torment. If any of my blog readers happen to be wealthy property owners looking for a good tenant who pays the bills on time and may or may not scream loudly at night in the bedroom (with my children! You're so perverted!!), shoot me an email. Just don't judge me by my FICO. It's negative something, I'm sure.

If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you - it probably forgot its expensive waffle iron and wanted to smear feces on your flat panel TV out of revenge.

What's that you say? A blog two days in a row? And it's not even your birthday??

Just hold on before you snot on your keyboard from an overabundance of excitement. I'm not even sure this will be a long blog. It could just be these few sentences. I could end it right here. I could. Don't test me.

Eh. You know me too well.

The truth of the matter is I have no real topics on which I even can think to write. I always start writing in here with the best of intentions and then I lose myself 3 seconds in when I'm inevitably interrupted by all the chaos of my house/neighborhood/internal stimuli. This is why my blogs are so choppy and random. Hey! There's a theme.

Maybe, in fact, that's what this blog is all about. Maybe it just doesn't make sense to you because I'm high and you're not. I'm kidding. I don't do that stuff. I don't even drink anymore. Or smoke. Or even eat bad food. No wonder I chew on my fingers so much.

Is it sad that I have over a thousand Coke points? I'm not even entirely sure what I'm saving for as all of the gifts available are super lame. Of course, I could be a hero and donate the points to some worthy cause or a failing school, but I'm selfish and I'm holding out for some Coke Teva Sandals or maybe one of those chairs that folds up into a bag. With cup holders. You know, for all my Coke products. You can laugh all you want, but I'll be the one sitting in the freebie chair whilst you blister away in your fold out from the Walmart. Does anyone remember Pepsi points? I think I collected like 5000 of them. I had everything Pepsi ever made. I think I had Pepsi thong underwear.

That's a lie. I hate thongs. I probably had the Pepsi briefs.

I think if you work around crazy people long enough, you start to self-diagnosis. I'm convinced I have some form of schizophrenia, personality disorder, mood disorder, and OCD. Just a touch of each though. And certainly not enough to do half the things I've read in the charts. Well, maybe 1/3rd. I could probably assault someone in my family or run over a pet. On purpose. I've considered both at some point in my life.

Last week I cooked every single day. Some fabulous recipes - like homemade chicken tortilla soup and sweet and sour meatballs. This week, I've made grilled cheese. I have nothing out for tomorrow's dinner either. Maybe I'm bipolar.

See? It's sick. Good thing I don't work around drug addicts.

Oh, wait. I do. Nevermind.

This blog is horrible. It's bumf. Ha! And you thought I wouldn't use my word-of-the-day. Actually, true story - bumf *isn't* my word of the day. Back when I worked in the marketing department at a children's hospital, the director of development and I would use our word from our word-a-day emails in sentences all day to one another (both spoken and via email, even though we sat in the same office). To an outsider, it probably seemed quite nerdy.... of course, it didn't help that we'd over-emphasize the word and then laugh hysterically about it. Now that I look back on it, I understand why no one ate lunch with us. Ever. At any rate, 'bumf' was one of the words. And I remember it because it was one of my favorites. I know you're curious. Go ahead, go look it up. But you have to remember it and use it from now on.... expand your vocab. It will come in handy if you ever get trapped in a hospital with crazy people who want to have all night Scrabble tournaments. Trust me, I know. I've been there. Plus, I'm a tad manic.

Did you notice the re-occurring theme of my craziness in this blog? You didn't? Eh. My creativity is lost on you. It truly is. I should focus on using monosyllabic words so you can read this and not get all frustrated at your extremely low IQ in comparison to mine.

Was that mean? I apologize.

Tomorrow I will revert back to writing regular blogs about things my child is doing in school and new words my almost 2 year old can say. But please don't complain your bored. At least not to my face.

I will see you then.