So, it’s my birthday…12:29 CST and in just 1-1/2 hours I will officially be 38. Yippee.
Can you sense the sarcasm? That’s because I have been a bit of a pill lately* (see note at bottom for explanation…boys, you might want to cover your eyes for that part). So to cure my grumpiness, I am taking the day off to do whatever the f*ck I want. I don’t even know what that is yet (I might go shopping, or I might sit somewhere and enjoy some silence, or better yet, I might enjoy some silence AND some cocktails), but whatever I do, I am really looking forward to it.
And I hereby give you permission to take the day off, celebrate my day, and do whatever the f*ck YOU want to do.
P.S. Please go wish No Cool Story a happy birthday too! We are birthday sisters…same year and everything!
* I recently quit nursing, so I am back on the “real” pill (instead of the mini) and just finished my first period in 1-1/2 years. To say the hormones have been pumping would be an understatement. And I am sure my husband would be happy to tell you all about it.
I’m sure you all know what I am thinking here, but let’s go ahead and say it out loud anyway.
WTF, dude? As if the highways aren’t dangerous enough with all the idiots on cell phones or texting or reading the paper, you decide to pile as much as crap as you can on top of your truck and hit the road?! Did you really look at this before you took off and say, “yeah, that looks safe”? I was too scared to even PARK next to you, much less drive behind you. Geesh.
Ok, I really don’t know what to say here besides WTF? It’s a LINCOLN. Not a Rolls or a Bentley. I do not get this. It looks ridiculous. Period.
First, WTF is an 80-year-old man doing on a motorcycle? And second, if you need training wheels, you should probably consider some other form of transport. I’m just saying.
In lieu of an actual post, here is a picture of my sweet little Scarlett, who turned 8 months old over the weekend.
She does this pose when she is being coy and during diaper changes. Kind of like she is saying, “I’m just going to kick back and relax while you clean up that poop, servant.” But in a cute, endearing way, of course.
A real post tomorrow!
My friend Kathy and I recently took our group of almost three-year olds (she has a matching set) to eat ice cream. Her daughter Dylan looks up from her bowl of bubble gum gelato and says, “Mommy, I really like eating with a little shovel.”
We give each other that “Huh?” glance, but then simuleously look down, and burst out laughing.
Sure enough, we were literally shoveling ice cream into our mouths. Perfect.
Finally! My burning question has been answered. I guess if I had taken the time, I could have researched it myself, but then it wouldn’t have given my friend Nam something to do. Thanks Nam for forwarding the answer to why some of our presidents have huge heads in comparison to the others. (go here for the back story – http://aintitfunny-rhonda.blogspot.com/2008/04/photo-of-week.html)
From the Houston Chronicle…
“..Seven of the statues — George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Andrew Jackson, Abraham Lincoln, Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson and Franklin Roosevelt — are about 4 feet taller than the others because they were, according to a consensus of historians, the best…”
My favorite part is where the developer says “We can make this the Venice of Houston.” Ummm, ok. I don’t think you can make this the San Antonio Riverwalk of Houston, but good luck with that.
It’s all about my health this week. I started working out again, had a mammogram, and last night I began using those foot pad things you see advertised on TV. (Who knows if they really work, but I guarantee that I am chocked full of toxins, so they certainly can’t hurt.)
And here is the result…
Eeeek! WTF? I knew I was toxic, but this is just plain nasty. Hopefully the next pad won’t be so scary.
And this is what they made me wear for my mammogram.
WTF? No, really, WTF? A purple cape?
It’s already a pretty humiliating process, and no one should ever have to see their girls in those positions, so could you just give me a hospital gown or something plain? I didn’t enjoy feeling like a half-naked, grape-flavored super hero/fashion victim.
Today is a crappy day. I took Max to his new home last night and although I know it’s a better situation for everyone, I’m still really bummed out. He is an adorable dog, but it just wasn’t the right time…crawling babies and un-housebroken dogs just don’t mix. And it didn’t help that he was so sweet and cute…
So to make myself feel better, I am going for a mammogram this afternoon. Hooray.
5. Stuff that cleans up other stuff.
4. Things that help me get organized, better myself in some form or fashion, or require me to think outside of my box.
3. Knick knacks. I have a toddler and a baby. Every surface in my house is bare and I am out of cabinet space.
2. Sharp objects. You never know when I might totally lose it.
1. Anything that poops.
WTF kind of douche are they using in France?! Must be pretty crazy to require a hat.
WTF is going on at my neighbor’s house? This dude made several trips with that can. How much paper can you possibly need to shred?
WTF is up with the spiders making homes on my car? They spin webs every night between my side mirror and the window. I don’t like making them homeless but I don’t particularly care for spiders either. This one couldn’t even wait until I got back home to start again! I think he was living behind the mirror, but his sticky little paws couldn’t hang on past 45 MPH.
As a woman who has a very Hispanic sounding maiden name (Hector…it’s actually German), I have adopted Cinco de Mayo as a personal holiday. Granted I am as Caucasian as they come, but who doesn’t enjoy a day that involves margaritas, Mexican food, pinatas, and victory over the French?
However, our holiday started off in a bit of sadness. Anabella came home with a little Cinco de Mayo bear on Friday, but apparently there has been some foul play, because all we could find of him this morning was his little teeny party hat.
I think the culprit might be the newest addition to the household, Max.
I know he looks innocent enough here, maybe even downright adorable, but he has been hell on four paws since he showed up. Not only did he probably devour Mr. Cinco de Mayo Bear, he has been making my home his own personal potty for the past 10 days.
So, I am on a potty-training mission this week, or Max might be joining Mr. Cinco de Mayo Bear…wherever he may be.