Confused

I just realized while sitting here reading through other people's blogs, that I have this insatiable, undeniable urge to be liked. The weird thing is though, I have no desire to try to get people to like me. Either they do or they don't. It's a weird contradiction that I need to sort out.

I'm too lazy to go out of my way to be nice to anyone. I don't mean that if I see some old dude drop something I ain't gonna pick it up for him or if I see some crazy guy treatin' a girl like shit in public I ain't gonna tell him to go kick rocks, I mean that in a social gathering, I have no desire to make conversation with people I don't know or put myself in a group conversation and laugh when everyone else does. If I don't feel like smilin' at someone I don't know, I ain't gonna do it just to be friendly. If some guy I don't know says something he means to be funny and I think it's stupid, I ain't gonna laugh. I just don't care. It takes energy to be that way and I just don't possess that energy. It doesn't take any effort to be nice and laugh and have good times with my friends....it just is and that works for me. I'm not saying I have no desire to meet new people, I'm just sayin' I'm lazy at it. Oh shit....am I even friendly? I wonder what people's first impressions are of me.....

So, why is it that I want to be liked, when I don't even care if I'm liked or not? See where the confusion comes in? This is me....sitting on my couch....analyzing myself. Laptop in hand as if I'm the therapist with a pad and pencil.

So.....When is it that I feel the need to be liked? *Tick tock, tick tock...minutes go by*.....I guess I'll go back to what first made me think about this. I was reading a blog that I love to read and scrolling through all the comments people had left and I thought "Dammit...I want shittons of people to leave comments on my blog." I nice to know people are hearin' what you're sayin' and have somethin' to say back.

As I've said before, writing is very therapeutic for me. I LOVE writing. I can get things of my chest, I can unclog my head....BUT, I also write for others to read what I have to say.

So ok, what I derive from that is I don't necessarily have a need to be liked, I have a need for people to like my blog. What it comes down to is.....I'm an attention whore. That must be it. No shocking revelation there. I don't give a shit if something I say makes someone laugh of pisses someone off, I just wanna be heard dammit! (Even though I do have my very own personal rev limiter that won't let me go past a certain point.) I mean I'd rather people like what I have to say, because it would help me a great deal in my trek to rule the world, but overall it really makes no difference to me.

Am I really an attention whore? I mean when I say "I need to be left alone, I need a break", I ain't kiddin'. I don't want you to come after me askin' what's goin' on? Are you ok?....no, I really mean I need to be left alone. Ok so maybe there has been a time or two that Jerm and I have argued and I really did want him to come talk to me, but generally speaking there are times when I don't want to see any faces or hear any voices and I truly want to be alone. So, am I an attention whore? YES, yes I am. I do think so.

So, bottom line....I'm not confused. I just figured it out all by myself and y'all got to watch. I don't have a weird desire to be liked....I just want you to read my blog and leave me comments! I know y'all are! I can see ALL of you! Tell me I suck, I'm awesome, my opinions are all ass backward, you think I write like shit, whatever....just tell me something dammit! Don't be afraid. You can do it! I'll even start responding to them, 'cuz that'd be the nice thing to do.

Don't Tase Me Bro

I said that to a cop once. He bumped into me and I didn't want to get tased. End of story.



MUST. HAVE. THIS.









Please. Somebody? Anybody?

Me and My Treadmill

I have this really kick ass treadmill. It's all fancy and stuff. Like it has preprogrammed....uh....things in it that like go faster and slower and incline and decline. It's neat. I put a fan in front of me the other day just so I could pretend I was hiking up a super fantastic mountain and there was a nice breeze. Yeah, that's how awesome this thing is. You put a fan in front of you and let the machine do the rest. If you close your eyes you can just imagine being on a steep slope on a beautiful mountain. Well, actually maybe you shouldn't close your eyes.

I've had this super awesome treadmill for a while. It's just kinda sat downstairs in my sewing room.....doin' nothin' but sittin'. Everyday I walk through the garage and through the basement and my treadmill taunts me. It's all "hey fatty....what are ya?....A chubby little chiiickennn....bock, bock". I just turn up my nose and walk on up the stairs. Take THAT treadmill! I just walked up the stairs! If that ain't exercise, I don't know what the hell is!

Finally, one day last week, I gave in. Kinda like Michael J. Fox in Back to the Future...."Nobody calls me chicken". So I tell the treadmill it better strap on it's treadmill pants, because I'm about to rock it's mother fuckin' treadmill socks off....that's right.....treadmill socks.

By the time I got ALL the way up the stairs to get on Nikes and booty walkin' shorts I'm all outta breath and shit.....god do I need to exercise. Turns out, I haven't worn my booty walkin' shorts in some time now and dang are them sonsabitches tight. Were they always this tight? I mean like, leaving a permanent indention all around my back and belly tight. Dang that shit hurt. That's aight.....I can take the pain.

I mosey on down the stairs and turn on the fan.....and then the tv. No brisk mountain hikes for me today thanks. I just have a walk with good ol' Monica Kaufman tellin' me about all the crime in DeKalb County and Glen Burns tellin' me that it's gonna be so hot tomorrow my face is gonna melt off.

I chose to go with an intermediate....uh....pre-programmed thing. It shows that I will walk for 20 minutes through a series of inclines and declines at various speeds at no more than 4.5 mph. Shit...like takin' candy from a baby. I do like 85 mph on the hwy. so 4.5 mph is gonna be cake.

Things start out all nice and slow....flat surface....2.0 mph. I can hardly imagine workin' up a sweat doin' things at this pace. A minute or so later there's a "beep, beep, beep" and I think "oh shit, what the hell was that?" Things speed up just a bit to 2.5 mph. Piece of cake. After another minute or so there's more beeps and the treadmill starts a slight incline. I can TOTALLY do this.

Things continue on at a nice pace and incline for a bit and then more beeping....we go up to 3.5 mph. Oh, hell yeah.....feel the burn baby, feel the burn.....Me and Monica doin' work! Then MORE beeps and more incline. I'm panting at this point. In my head I'm tellin' myself to not be a total sissy...keep truckin' it, you can do it! THEN...more fuckin' beepin'! Holy hell....4.0 mph! At this point I think I'm gonna freakin' die. This is no longer a stroll up a mountain. This is like real exercise which my body ain't cut out for! My nice walk has turned into a boobs and belly jarring jog.

I don't know what to do. I just start whimpering. I CANNOT let the treadmill beat me, then......MORE BEEPING...MORE INCLINE and now 4.5 mph!!!! I'm all sweatin' and cussin' tellin' the treadmill it can go fuck itself, because it ain't beatin' me, but I'm dyin'...can't....breathe. Then I saw the little speed buttons. There's an up arrow and a DOWN one too!!! Oh dear God...thank you for the down arrow! I push that little down arrow...down, down, down....down to 2.5 mph. I got a stitch in my side, but I can make it at this speed....I mean really. I must have, what....another 3 or 4 minutes?

I had 12 minutes left.

Hello Kitty Speaker Pillow for Your Ipod/MP3 Player!

If you're a total Hello Kitty addict like me, you want anything and everything Hello Kitty you can get your hands on!



Well, I've got something AWESOME and no longer available that you will love so I've decided to share! I bought a couple of these Hello Kitty speaker pillows a few years ago and forgot all about this last one that I had.



My girl has used hers for over 2 years now! It looks so cute on her bed! You just plug your ipod/MP3 player and and the music comes through the speaker in the flower. No batteries required!


I've listed it on ebay so go bid now! Just click here to go to the listing.

My Kids...I Pretty Much Love 'em....Like A Lot

When I was a teenager, I hated kids. I SWORE I'd never have kids.

For the most part, I still think kids suck. They talk back and give you the stink eye as soon as they realize they can move their little bodies.....and you can't just haul off and hit 'em like you could an adult. They usually smell like butt, because kids hate bathing. They cost an ass ton of money. They spill cherry koolaid on your beige carpet. They leave shit all around the house so when you get up in the middle of the night, you cut your foot open stepping on some stupid toy.....really, I could go on and on about why I always hated kids.......then I had my own.

I love my kids. Like the kind of love I didn't know I was capable of. I'm fiercely protective of my boy when it comes to the outside world. Now that he's a teenager, I need to stop holding his hand so much and let him take the lead. It's gonna be hard to do, but better now than when he's 30 and still living at home in our basement.

Sometimes I really have a hard time understanding our boy. He's nothing like I was when I was a kid. I was all about playin' kickball in the cul-de-sac and hangin' out with my friends. He's all about not coming out of his room.....like ever. He generally doesn't seem to like any of us. He has his moments though. He likes to laugh and be goofy and those are the best times.

The girl on the other hand is the complete opposite.

(This picture was the inspiration for this particular blog. The girl was so pissed she had to do this. She sat there the entire time and complained..."this is so stupid Mom"...."Do I look like a total idiot?"..."I can't breathe with this stupid thing on, isn't it supposed to be HELPING me breathe?")

It's funny, in all my years of hatin' on kids, I especially wanted to kick the crap outta little girls. With all their sass mouthin', pink shit and drama I thought I rather die than have a girl. I was wrong.

My girl and I have a special bond. She is me and I am her. She's like a mini-me. Sometimes she makes me wanna beat my head against the wall (well most of the time actually), but we're so much like each other I guess that's expected.

Everywhere I go and everywhere I am, she wants to be. I can barely wipe my ass without her wantin' to see what's goin' on.....literally. She gets upset if we don't have enough snuggle time in the evenings. In that case, her and I couldn't have been more different. I HATE snuggling. I think our boy does too.....he definitely gets that from me. We'd both just rather not have to.

The girl needs to snuggle and cuddle. It's like her brain will explode if she doesn't have that time with her dad and I everyday. The weird thing is though that I don't mind it.

When I think back though, I tend to remember all our boy's firsts more than our girl's. I remember all the funny ways he said certain things. He said "terlick" for toilet, "chwockit" for chocolate and "watart" for guitar. I remember the first time he walked like it was yesterday. I remember potty training him and the hell that that was. I remember so much, but my brain has evidently turned to jello, because with the girl, I don't remember so much. I think I have a lot of it written down. Maybe. I hope.

Even though my kids totally warped my body and sometimes make me wanna stick toothpicks in my eyes, they have also given me the gift of selective hearing. What a precious, precious gift.

Seriously, I love my kids. A lot. When they fly the coop, I'm gonna cry. Vasectomies are reversible right?

Random Thoughts on a Tuesday

Why are all these people all upset over Michael Jackson dying? Maybe these people aren't parents themselves and don't have that fierceness to protect their child at all costs. I don't know, whatever, just quit your damn whinin' already people. Sure, I shook my ass to his music too when I was a kid (shit, still do when it comes on the 80's channel), but the dude was a PEDOPHILE. The guy liked kids WAY too much and you know it! If you're innocent of something as VILE as molesting a child, why would you EVER pay off the accusers just to make it go away.....unless you're guilty. I wasn't there, I didn't see it, but you bitches are crazy for saying RIP Michael or shedding one single tear.

It's all set! We're goin' to PC soon for a family vacation with some friends. Six adults, three kids. Anyone know where I can get Valium? Nah, I'll be fine....I hope. The last time I was in PC, I was 14. We had a BLAST. I'll save the details since my Mom reads this. I gotta start tanning now so I don't get sun poisoning and while I'm there, I must remember to get myself an airbrushed t-shirt.

I'm tired of zits. I freakin' thirty something and still get that shit! Really it's like a cruel, cruel joke. You'd think that the powers that be would cut you some slack ya know? Once you hit 30, you start getting hairs in weird places, you gotta work 16 times as hard as a 20 year old to lose any weight and hangovers are WAAAYYY worse. Really.....come me some slack zit fairy.

97 degree weather sucks balls. I ain't lookin' for a picture of that either. It just is. I'm hot. All day. Everyday. I can't cool down to save my life. My hair looks like ass from all the humidity and all that sweatin' is makin' my skin break out. Heat is stupid.

Dang it.....I gotta go pay bills.

My Imagination is Gettin' Outta Hand

Every few months at work I have to take the mail down to the mailroom in the afternoon. On the way there, I have to walk down this really LOOONG, quiet, clean smellin' hallway. Its silence is deafening.

As I mozy down this hall, I imagine that I am in a huge high rise building and just outside is the noisy hustle and bustle of New York City. Yeah, I imagine this EVERYDAY.

It gets even more ridiculous than that though....

I have to take the freight elevator down to the mail room. Access to the elevator is behind a non conspicuous door and behind that non conspicuous door is a little room where you wait for the elevator. Normally, I have to stand in this tiny little room for a few minutes waiting for the elevator to come up. While I'm waiting, I think about how much it would cost to rent a room that size in New York City and if I could manage living in a space that small. According to Ikea you can functionally live in any sized space if you just shop at their store, so I've decided I totally could with the help of Ikea. (That is of course in a complete alternate reality of my life actually is or ever would be).

As I stand in that little room and wait for the elevator, I think of where my bed would be. I could fit a chair and a little table and there's even enough room for a sink and toilet as long as you don't mind spinning around to get to the bathroom opposed to walking to it. There would definitely be no room for a kitchen, but I am in New York City after all and where else in the world is there better food?

I am retarded over New York. RETARDED I tell you. OBSESSED.

.....I wrote this several weeks back. It's pretty lame, but there's a lot of lame shit that I write and never actually post. Plus, since I wrote this my New York fantasies have slacked a little because there's ALWAYS somebody walkin' down that long hall. ALWAYS! How the hell am I supposed to pretend I'm in New York when I got some Kennesaw Claw havin', white pump wearin' chick walkin' behind me whistlin' Dixie????

Yeah, well....nonetheless, thought I would come back to this one though because today when I took the mail, and I was standing in that little room waiting on the elvator I saw a cheeto on the floor. I thought "Awww hell no....somebody's all trashin' up my tiny little New York apartment". I mean really, how the hell do you drop a cheeto and not pick it up?