Why I Suck At Blogging

Probably because I have two pillow pets.. that my kid isn't allowed to touch. SHE HAS HER OWN STOP JUDGING ME!

I forget to do it. A lot.

Too Much Coffee, People Who Skipped Grammar In School, And Cyber Stupidity -- RTTR

I've been hard at work lately, doing research and reading tons of resumes. By research, I mean playing the shit out of Fable III, Halo Reach, and Halo ODST. Throwback to some great games wut?! Yes. I have an awesome friend who let me borrow his old school first gen 360, and I'm banging out an article that's going to take a lot of patience to write.

Also, if anyone wants to donate to the game fun, I'll give you my paypal. I'm spending all my money on bills and coffee these days, and I can't afford the ridiculous prices for games.. they used to be necessities, but then I had a family and a kid and responsibilities. OMFG. WHEN DID I GROW UP? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! ::shakes fist angrily towards the sky::

Speaking of coffee, I'm up to a $30/week budget for that shit. It's insane. I'm killing my insides. It's totally cool, though, because I enjoy killing my organs with black gold. Well, more like, caramel gold.. I like coffee creamer and sugar in my coffee.

I've had this stupid hair stuck in my eye for FOUR FUCKING DAYS NOW. It's not cool. My eyeball is raw. How does that even work?! It just does. There's your answer. It's in that unreachable top crease, and it's driving me insane. Not that I really need any help, but it's a helpful motherfucker. Touche, hair stuck in my eye, touche. I don't know how to make the little accent thing on the top of the "e", so get over it already.

I hate to call-out bad grammar (well, not really, but this time I kind-of do.. maybe.. probably not. Whatevs.), but I have to say this to everyone that wants to be a writer:

Everyone makes mistakes. It's learning to correct your mistakes, and better yourself that makes you a good writer. When you balk at the notion, it tells me you're not a writer, you're simply someone who wants to seem deep and interesting. Get a beret, or something, but please don't harp on how awesome your shit is. When you can't even discern the STARK difference in "your" and "you're", and you make no never mind about it, it annoys me.

If your resume has more grammatical errors than a kindergartner's poetry, you look like an idiot. If your blog posts are so incoherent that I can't even grasp the topic you've chosen to write about, you look completely incompetent. I'm not going to give you the time of day.

I know I'm not perfect, but I choose to use ellipses like they're going out of style. I know the right and wrong way to use commas, but sometimes, I choose to splice shit up FOR THE EFFECT. Like, how it would sound if I said it. SO THERE. FUCK YOU. CAPS!

This week, I'm ashamed to own a Chrysler vehicle. One of my most favourite people on the interwebz was in a contest, and was banging out the hilarity in her quest for votes. I enjoyed her not taking herself so seriously, and having fun with the process.

She got disqualified. Another contestant got upset that she was losing (because obvs she's internet famous and awesome, but OMFG EVERYONE IS MISSING IT WHAT DO I DO?!), and lost her sense of humor. She set her husband loose on the Twitterverse, and he said some pretty nasty things to this awesome lady that was just trying to have fun, as well as some of her interweb supporters/friends.

IT GETS BETTER!

She the decided to write a completely terrible blog post about said person, slandering and bullying her. She set her "fans" after her and her readers, and she made all kinds of false accusations. This, in itself, was enough to make me pretty peeved, I'm not going to lie.

THEN! as if this wasn't enough! she contacted Chrysler and made a big stink, leaving out all the nasty things on her side that weren't all in good fun and humor, and Chrysler. backed. her. up. y'all.

Chrysler promotes cyber bullying. I say that with complete conviction. I know what's right, and what's completely wrong, and I also know THAT I AM A REAL PERSON AND SO ARE MY FRIENDS AND YOU CAN SUCK A NUT! I don't make friendly-time with proxy servers and cheaters, because I only make friends with people who can hug it the fuck out.

When has a proxy server or a cheater ever had the capability to give a fucking AMAZING hug? Nevah!

What I'm really saying here, through all my weird hilarity, is that the real bully is the man who threatens a woman, or anyone else, on the internet. The bully and the cheater isn't the person who made jokes and did what she always does, it was the person who stooped to petty and childish tactics.

I have been internet harassed, and it was awful. It made me a wreck, and hurt more than I can describe. It wasn't over a contest, it was over something that happened in the realz, but it was carried to the internet, and I was threatened, my child was harmed, and my husband's career was threatened. It was the worst time of my life, and it's still going on, because petty fucking people have nothing better to do with their time.

I've learned to let it go, but it still hurts. It's still wrong, and to see a power company ENDORSE THE SHIT pisses me off to no end. Like, pisses me off more than when my husband decides to be a fucking dick all day and treat me like I'm an idiot because I have a vag. That, my friendly readers, is a whole fucking lot.

I voted for her, because her contributions were awesome, and so is she. I didn't cheat, I didn't vote for the stupid iPad 2 (that CHRYSLER was BLATANTLY using for incentive votes), or the cookies (which WERE JUST A FUCKING JOKE OMFG), or for any other reason than I loved her shit, so. hard., and I love reading her blog, also so. hard.

So, there. Fuckity-fuck-fucker. Now I think I have it off my chest, I'm going to shit-talk my Jeep because ITS PARENT IS RIDICULOUS. It should've been adopted. I'm just glad I didn't buy it from a dealer, because technically I didn't pay them for it. I paid the dude who did a craptastic job of restoring it.

This, my friends, ends Random Tuesday Thoughts. It has a whole 'lotta rebellion in it. Enjoy the rest of your week, awesome people, and remember to head on over to Stacy's awesome blog and link up to the fun.


I'm not adding the linky thing today, mostly because I'm lazy as shit, but also it's over there -----> on the side of my blog. Have fun, and rebel on!

UPDATE TIME BITCHES!

So, there's this guy, and he's pretty much fucking awesome. He wrote this blog post about all the Chrysler Blogger Face-Off shit, and it's perfection.

Go HERE, and enjoy.


Also, I realize that it was Ignite Social Media that made the wrong decision, but CHRYSLER BACKED THEM UP. Obviously. The shit is still going on.

A Bit Of Sunday Soul-Searching (And Whining)

After the week I've had, I've done a lot of thinking. Like, why am I always the one left sacrificing and no one else bothers trying? Why am I always the one that has to back down and let everyone else have their way? Why do I always get overlooked, no matter what the situation is?

Why am I still wearing the same stuff I wore in High School, even though it doesn't fit anymore?! I need some new clothes.. bad.

I know it sounds completely whiny, but seriously, I'm always the one left holding the short straw. No one ever listens to anything I have to say, and it's easy for people to treat me poorly. I guess I'm not as bad ass as I would like to think. I always end up being the one who backs down, and gives others their way. It's becoming quite the burden, actually, and I'm getting tired of being treated like what I think or feel doesn't matter.

The only thing that I have any real control over is my writing, so I just keep clinging to it. I have like 30 random pieces I've been piddling around with, none of which are finished. I've been so down lately, I don't know how I'll pick myself up off my pillow pet some days.

Don't judge me, that thing is the best invention ever. It's the perfect pillow, complete with a place to hold onto.. the head. And it's soft and comfy and doesn't leave me waking up with a rat's nest where my hair used to be.

I make the budget and the meal plan for the two weeks in between paychecks and the likes. No one bothers to even acknowledge it. The budget is like a guideline to people.. except me. So, when we run short, or have to skip out on something, it's me that's left giving something up (like coffee and Dr. Pepper, two of my four vices). The one that tries so hard to make everything balance is always the one left out, and left holding all the blame.

I recently had no other option than to buy new glasses. I had to blow my budget to get my lenses, so I was left a crying mess in the middle of Lenscrafters. This also happened when I had to buy a pair of boots to make it through winter. If I have to spend something on myself, I get really out-of-sorts, and when I realized that the following two weeks would be tight, I made the decision to take the glasses back. I was told not to, that it wouldn't serve any purpose, and yet no one bothered to help see where we could cut random spending to make things a little less strained at the bank. Just me.

Now, I used to get told the reason that I had to make sacrifices (like not eating for days, and not sleeping, etc) was because I didn't have a job. Even when I had a job, it wasn't one where I "punched a time clock", so it was considered "stupid doodles on the internet". It really hurts to know that I'm not appreciated for the long hours and dedication I put in to be someone.. to make something of myself.. to better our family.

I have no say in anything, and yet everything is left up to me. I moved home, with my mom, not because I'm a loser, but to help her. My parents are older than most of my friend's my age, and my mom is all alone. She works long hours in a really strenuous place, and she just couldn't keep going the way she was and not have any help around the house. I help with the bills as much as I can, and I cook, clean, run errands, make phone calls, and try to relieve some stress on her.

I don't mind, not even in the least. I love this house, this area, and my mom. She's one of my best friends, as well as a huge supporter of my aspirations to do something with my life. She supports my long hours, lack of good pay, and dedication. She takes over the dishes and the laundry when she's off, and it's a huge help. She lets me sleep in when she knows I've been up too late, and helps me with the Kid. I try to make things as easy as possible, but it always seems like something goes wrong, and I'm left feeling like the worst daughter ever.

I just get sick and tired of everyone thinking I'm some terrible person because I don't visit often enough, or do things their way. I get tired of being made to "go along" with whatever everyone else wants, and told to basically not have an opinion or desire that isn't going to be the same as theirs. It really sucks, and it gets me down.

THEN I start feeling like a douchebag because I'm whining and feeling all "poor me". I spend all day acting happy and tough, but sometimes, I just can't play the part anymore. Like last night.. when I texted a friend, crying and down, and spilled all my crap onto him. It wasn't fair, and I still need to tell him I'm sorry. I don't have anyone to talk to, because if I say anything to anyone, I'm a bitch and I just want to make someone miserable.

That's totally not true. I'm actually a really nice person, who's constantly a door mat. I get pushed around, used, treated like crap.. hell, I've been told I'm worthless, the worst thing that ever happened to Husband, a bad parent... my kid has told me she doesn't love me so many times I've become almost completely numb. I'm no good, a time suck, I don't do anything but play around on the computer all day, etc. It really gets old hearing these things all the time. Especially when I hear them from my kid and people I don't even know.

Why would anyone talk about me like that? I try so hard to make everyone happy, that I end up losing my own needs and wants in the process. If I actually stand up for myself, I get threatened and talked down to until I just give in, because I've given up.

Is this how it's supposed to be? I thought compromise was a two-way street? Since when was it okay to make someone your punching bag, again and again, and treat them like they aren't important. Everyone, in some way or another, is important. Everyone has a mind and feelings, and they matter. Even if they're different than you, they still deserve to be happy, heard, acknowledged, and loved.


I guess I'm jut tired of feeling worthless to everyone. Also, I'm really tired of feeling down on myself. I guess when you hear it every day, you just kind-of start to believe it. That shouldn't happen, but it does. I'm only human, and I can only take so much shit from people before I get overloaded.

I wish I was the happy little bad ass that everyone thinks I am.. I used to be.. I guess I've just gotten lost along the way.

A Foray Into Word-ish Wednesday

I took some amazing photos of the Munchkin today while we were "chalkin'".

It's a real thing. She made it up today. New meme, guys. Chalkin'.

Enjoy the cuteness, and the amazing day we were graced with today.

I found this awesome blog hop through the ever amazing Stacy, so if you want to get on board, go check her out.

The Things I Do For Money, The Waiting Game, And Gramma's Oatmeal: RTTR

So Tomorrow was going to be the day I finally got the hubs back from Louisiana. I don't think that's going to happen. I really appreciate all the shit he's gone through since I moved, but I think it's time he told everyone and everything to go to hell so he can come home. I'm tired of waiting, sleeping alone, changing dates, hearing my kid cry because she misses her daddy, and dealing with everyone's drama.

Do you think I'm really that bad of a person, guys? I wouldn't MAKE him do anything. This was a mutual decision, and I don't appreciate the accusations or the hateful messages. Man up, grow a set of balls, and learn what "staying out of things you don't know anything about" means. I promise, what you think you know, isn't at all what's really going on. Maybe you should disregard gossip and worry about yourself.

I'm a bit cranky when it comes to this subject. That's about all I can say. I miss my best friend and regulator, so I'm not exactly thrilled that it's going to take more time. Also, it's getting harder to keep the munchkin on the up-and-up. I can't tell her to be good because Daddy will be here soon if soon never comes.


I pounded out an article that took me a week to prepare for. It's pretty sweet, and I'll be linking to it in a post as soon as it's live. I wrote a speech for someone's kid who did something "cool", and got to hear more of the same crap I just posted about. Lame jokes.. lots of them. I finished up the last of the graphics I plan on doing for a while, and had another 100 e-mails from douchenuts who think it's my job to make them free shit. I'm letting you know now that it's not my job to give you something that takes away from my paid-for time and my family, for free. Ever. If I offer, then I offer. If you e-mail me 12 times in a day TELLING me to do something, I'm going to remind you that eating a bag of dicks can be cleansing, and block you from my life. Forever.

Now, this eating of the bag of dicks can also be applied to people who make me work hours on things I offered, and assumed would be simple, and then never contact me to finish them, or treat me like I'm their fucking bitch and can't even say thank you before they're telling me what I am and am not going to do for them.

Fuck off. My time is worth $125 an hour, and if you want me to bow to your every whim, you will pay me for it, I clock my hours with the same timer my Dad uses, and trust me, I clock your free shit. I clocked in almost three hours out of the goodness of my heart, and you will pay me for it, PLUS whatever time I waste from here on out, since you want to be a fucking tool.


Also, if you type like a douche, I'm going to block you. I won't even accept your money if it means I have to read your messages. I mean, come on: "Dhuz eyU mayK gRaFiiXx fu ah Tallt?!??!G won noe, tryyk. iiMma nea tuhh giit ah bluu XxX owna bakk. lmk. ppeecce."

What in the fucking fuck does that even mean?! I'm totally serious, here. I know what "lmk" is, but other than that, I'm fucking lost. I copy+paste-d that from an e-mail I received two hours ago. My head hit the desk so fast I wasn't prepared for it.

If that was you, you're blocked. Forever and ever. And if you leave a comment on this post, I will hunt you down and shove my old Grammar book into your ear canal in hopes that it, by some divine miracle, punctures your brain and oozes its useful knowledge all over it. Get a job, and maybe you'll learn proper english.


It's going to be super nice outside today, Thursday, and Friday. I can't wait to get out and enjoy it. I'm hoping the munchkin will be up for some serious walking, because it's going to happen. Wednesday can kiss my ass. It wants to be rainy. I hate Wednesday right now. Wednesday, you're a bitch.


I cheated when I cooked supper last night, and made spaghetti from a canned sauce. It was a huge mistake. It tasted like I dumped a cup of sugar into it, and then added some Karo syrup. No one could eat it. It was a total waste of meat, spices, and time. I promise, family, I will never do that again. Ever.


I made myself some oatmeal for a snack and breakfast tomorrow. I used the same oats my gramma used to use, and I added in some brown sugar, a dash of nutmeg, honey, and a spoonful of some home canned maple peach preserves. It was awesome, but it paled in comparison to hers. No one will ever make oatmeal like hers. Also, butter beans. She made the best, and I am just trying to make mine a fraction as good these days.


I have found the worst thing about living out in the middle of the country: waiting around for the dude to refill your gas tank. Everyone else is fine with the slight drop in temperature due to conservation, but I'm not. I haven't taken my boots off all day, and I'm in so many layers it's hard to walk around.

Also, I think I may have over-shot the limits on my Jeep. I decided to wait to get gas, and then I forgot I was low, and drove it around today. I may or may not be able to get back to town to fill it up. Anyone have a gas can? Because I'm a failure.

You know the drill, head over to Stacy's awesome blog, grab a button, write some shit down, link-up, and get in on the Random Tuesday fun! Now with more REBELLION!


Have a very random Tuesday!

The Good Times Had by a Freelance Writer

So, among the many things I do to make ends meet, I freelance write. Now, don't get me wrong, I love it. It gives me the freedom to work on so many different projects that I normally would't get a chance at. It's rewarding and fulfilling on so many levels.

But, sometimes, I hate it. One of these sometimes is when I'm commissioned to write a speech for someone who really didn't want my help in the first place. How can I say that, you ask? They refuse to let me do my job. There is a difference between tossing around ideas and then letting me go to work and deliver you a great speech, and taking over -- basically paying me hundreds of dollars to be your PA and type your shit up for you.

Since everyone always posts up "What If" scenarios, and people, like the incredible author/artist of The Oatmeal, create amazing comics out of their horror stories, I'm going to write the speech that I wish I could give to difficult clients here.. in my blog.. because I like money. I would rather continue to receive money, than lose out on it because I want to post up my issues like I'm grand-standing in a public forum.

You know, that thing I'm doing now, only it's not to a room full of people who already hate me.

Enjoy!


Dear Audience,

Thank you for whatever reason I'm here. I'm a clueless Douchenut, so I really don't have a idea as to why I'm actually standing here, but thanks. Here are a few really awful and extremely stupid jokes to make you question why I am in whatever position I am in; I am quite certain your fake laughter will give me whatever confidence booster I'll need to make it through the rest of the night. I'm not exactly sure I like any of you, but it warms me more than my fist of whiskey to hear your finger claps and discontented chuckles.

Now, here's the part where I should be telling you it's all thanks to you, but no. Fuck that shit. It's all about me tonight, baby. Me, me, me, me, and me. I love me. I'm accomplished at something, but I'm not quite sure what it is. I'm sure it'll come to me in the next however long I choose to stand here, but right now? Total blank. Oh, did I mention I love the way my farts smell? Because I do. They're awesome. More about me. Blahdy blahdy blah blah blah blah blah. Blargh.

I would also like to give thanks to the chick I hired to help me better articulate absolutely nothing. She's awesome. This bitch can type like.. fucking fast. She got a lot of money to help me, but instead, I decided to go my own way. I'm a fucking REBEL! Here's the gist of what I put her through:

 I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, and I'm not entirely sure where I'm at or how I got here. I hired someone smarter than me to research and write me some pretty words. She's now far more competent than me, and could quite possibly steal my position based on her gleaned knowledge alone.

But, I decided I wanted jokes; lots and lots of really un-funny and extremely offensive jokes. Also, I wanted a small slideshow of ponies and unicorns and rainbow-shitting cupcake faeries to go with it. You're definitely welcome for those. There's also a few images of me spending my insane salary on some equally insane vacation. Do you like my hot pants? Daddy likes.... Let me rub my nipple in a failed attempt at sexual humor and innuendo. I do these things so fucking well, and she knows it.

She also researched the people who should actually be here, and she wanted to thank you all, but like I said, fuck you. It's me time, and I'm cashing in.

Words and stuff.

Man that bitch can type.

Now, I realize that I've completely ruined any chance I have at making you think I have any idea why I should be here.. or grateful.. or even alive, because I'm a fucking tool. Please let me just take the cheap-ass trophy or certificate you made me from some crap-ass Microsoft program, sans speech, and I swear, to Zeus, that this awkwardly painful moment (for everyone involved, mind you) will never happen again.

Also, I'll save $700 on something I could've easily done myself. Which is cause massive embarrassment and give you all something to discuss, at-length, in e-mails and at the water cooler, behind my back, for at LEAST a year. Probably more, depending on how drunk I am right now and who's wife is hottest. I'm grabbing your ass, hot wifey, I'm just sayin'.

Spanx. See?! I'm totally not hilarious at all!
Continue on somehow with the rest of your miserable night,

Douche-y McFuckNut

Neglect: My Blog Has It

I haven't posted a real, honest-to-god blog in, oh, forever. Well, more like forever, three weeks, and two days. I figure I should probably start doing things right again so I will stop having conversations with my cat and randomly bursting into tears in the shower...

Stop being all judge-y. I feel you being judge-y. It makes me itch.

Here's the slim of what I've been up to for the better part of a year and some days. Enjoy.

1. Living in Louisiana is probably one of the worst fucking things to ever happen to me in the history of fucking ever. I'm so not kidding. Aside from amazing friends, that's about all I got out of that experience. My marriage almost failed, my in-laws pretty much made me want to befriend the Mississippi River.. from the bridge.. like, I wanted to face-plant into it from the fucking bridge. Oh, and did I mention it was so awful that I wanted to punch baby seals with my fist? Because I did. A lot. Because is sucked. Immensely.

2. I finished school and couldn't get a job because, yay, the hospital chucked my paperwork into the garbage. This fact, coupled with the fact that the job market in the area we were living in was complete bullshit, made me even more down and depress-y. I was already down because of the fact that I lived in the gooch of the world; let's add on a really crap-tastic healthcare system and failing local economy. Thanks, universe. Fuck you very much.

3. I decided to move, and, thankfully, my amazing husband was supportive and decided after finishing up the jobs he was already contracted out to do, he would follow me into the great known of my home state/town. So far, so good. I love living here. My kid loves living here. My husband is so stoked to live here in the next two weeks. We're those retarded happy people that I usually make fun of now only we're broke.

4. Moving really helped everything, to be honest. My marriage is better than ever, my kid is happier and healthier than she's been since we moved from here the first time, my Mom is healthier and happier having me as her slave, err, I mean having me close-at-hand... under her roof... no, this doesn't bother me in the least because I have the coolest fucking Mom ever, and living with her is pretty much like living with a bad-ass, older version of me.. and taller... and dorkier... but still.

5. I really don't have a 5, but I am extremely OCD, and I really like odd numbers. Especially when they're multiples of 5. They make-ah me happy...ah. Whatever.


So, in conclusion, here's what we should be taking away from this post. In multiples of 5. Again. Redundancy FTW!:

-I hate the entire state of Louisiana and most of Mississippi. Fuck those places.
-I moved. Georgia = my favourite place to live.. and stuff.
-I like Ass-hat more than I've liked him since the three month mark of our coexistence as married people.
-I have a really awesome kid who's really fucking awesome.. also, My Mom is tall.
-I like odd numbers and multiples of 5.


Thanks.

Oh, About That

I think it's been far too long since I actually got to blog, so please excuse and errors or thoughts that trail off into something else -- also be aware that my screen is dimmed to the lowest setting and I can barely press my laptop keys because someone is being a down-er and wants to "sleep". PFFT! Sleep... sleep is for the weak.

So where to begin, where to begin?

Melodrama started Daycare. That was extremely tragic -- for ME. Not her, me. I bawled and begged and sank into this horrid depressed state where I just sat around eating random food for comfort for a good, oh, three days?

I'm totally fine now. *coughcough*

Melodrama loves it and the staff is amazing and it gives me time to apply to countless jobs and house hunt. Go me. I'm getting my shit together. Finally. I really miss working from home because I miss my kiddo and she's really falling behind on her sign language. *mental note*
I've had a lot of people tell me what an abomination I am for sending her packing to a daycare center when I don't even have a job yet. I've also had people call me out for not using cloth diapers and not being able to breast feed, but who really gives two fucks about any of that? Certainly not my self-esteem/self-worth issues.. nope.

I'm totally fine. *hackhack*


I decided, after not being able to find ANY decent paying work in this odd little place, to take some classes and become... drum roll please... a Phlebotomist. *cue applause*
It's a 12 week course that will give me the skills and knowledge to stand in a clinic/hospital for 12 hours a day, 6-7 days a week and draw blood. I will be paid to be a needle vampire.


Fuck you if you just asked yourself if I would sparkle. Haven't you heard? I hate Twilight. I wish that woman would stop publishing her childish and pathetic drivel of a diary. The End.


I'm still, totally fine. *coughhack*


Husband FINALLY got all the massive amounts of stuff finished so he can start work. Hopefully he WILL NOT decide to take the job on the oil rig since he got the job he's starting next week. I just got him back from the military and would like a little time to be, ya know, a FAMILY.

*twitch*

zOMFG! WE FOUND A HAUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We are in an extreme state of love over this 1930's carpenter-style abode. It is a definite fixer-upper, but I couldn't be more in love. It's perfection! I will provide a link to the historically registered masterpiece. You will fall in love, too, if you love houses and projects and the likes.


The holidays were a mixture of ups and downs. This was my first holiday away from home and I was BEYOND a bawling, sniveling, wretched bitch of a mess. I think I pretty much died at one point and the only thing that revived me was the putrid smell of sweet cornbread.

*pleasesavemefromthisplanetI'velandedon*


I got a new car.. right before we left for my state for Thanksgiving. The night we left to come back, two days later, my tire exploded on the interstate at 75 miles an hour and destroyed my new pretty Jeep. Well, destroyed is a pretty strong word. More like maimed and disfigured horribly. Thankfully I'm an amazing and stellar driver and I made it safely to the side of the super busy Interstate 85-S before breaking down into shaking tears and grabbing Melodrama and the phone to call my Dad -- who was an hour away and asleep, so not at ALL happy to hear me begging for his Daddy powers.

*thisismylife...*



I am actually about to share a picture... just one. Not of the Jeep, or of the new me (now with short hair and 15 lbs lighter), the disgusting sweet cornbread, or anything else. I am going to share my amazing photography skills and delight the blogging world with my gorgeous daughter. With the picture, I also close this atrocious mess of a post and promise my next one will be less of a failure and more... better-er.


xoxoo;

cutest. toddler. ever.

Oh, and here's the link to the house we're getting.. err, HOPE we're getting.

You know you want to see it!

Procrastination And Dinosaurs, Now With Clay-mation!

In lieu of cleaning my kitchen, I'm going to blog.
Procrastination is awesome, is it not? I used to be an expert in the art, but as I got older, I got my life under control and always had things done on time.

Erm... yeah, not so much now.

I'll pretty much put anything off that I can. There are some days I work and take care of Munchface, but that's about all I get done. I even make Husband get dinner if I'm feeling especially lazy. Now, that may not sound like procrastination, but trust me, it is. I have to clean my kitchen, and here I sit... here I've sat.

For two days.

It's just some dishes, and by some I mean like two plates and three cups and a skillet used to make eggs -- I just procrastinated writing by playing Jedi balloons with Munchface... see?! I'm hopeless.

I seriously should be up doing something productive with my time - like the dishes.

But Husband has dinosaurs on his computer screen, and I'm inclined to watch that and cartoons with Munchface. Which paid off because I just heard the words Zombie and brain-swapping in the same sentence. Epic!

I think I'll read some of my book and then get up and do the dishes and wash up some uniforms for the week so Husband doesn't try to wear the same shirt twice. He decided to do his own laundry last week, and only did one shirt and three pairs of socks.

Um, yeah, not gonna work.
Especially when there are five work days, four deducting Blues Monday from the equation.


Yep, I just stalled out again by googling reasons dog tag silencers can smell like a perm. Don't ask.

Here's to procrastination. I just got to see a Youtube video of dinosaur clay-mation.

AWESOME!!




watch herez :o!





Fin.