I forgot where I was going with this….

GAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WordPress changed the dashboard interface! GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I don’t like new things!!!!!!! GAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I want my mommy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!! I don’t know who commented and I’m all confused!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 I’ll be the one over in the corner there rocking back and forth in the fetal position. Don’t mind me.

Me: Hey! I had my second best day ever on WordPress today.
Steve: You put cleavage up again, didn’t you?
Me: NO! Ok maybe some boobs, but no cleavage.
Steve: This blogging thing is so seedy. I don’t like it. You have proved yet again that cleavage = hits.
Me: Ain’t it great?
Steve: It’s just wrong…..

I promised to post the devil costume with the dirty shirt I wore last night. But first I should point out, you should never wear that costume around labrador retrievers. I went to drop son #1 off at a friend’s house and got chased by his labrador retriever. First he tried to fetch my tail. When I turned around he tried to retrieve my feather boa. He barked at my eyelashes and finished it off with a wet nose to the crotch. If I knew him better, he would have gotten a swift kick in the ribs for getting fresh with the devil.

We got to the Halloween party and I was in charge of running one of the booths. I should point out that this is a huge party we go to every year with probably a hundred kids. One of the kids gets to the front of the line and doesn’t recognize me. I say “Hi Lucas” and he looks stunned and then looks at me suspiciously. “How do you know my name?” he says. I replied “I’m the devil, I know everyone whose been bad this year.” and then he turned and ran away. I should point out that he’s 10 or 11 so I wasn’t scaring little kids, but I enjoy scaring the bigger kids.

So without further ado, here’s my costume:

It all started yesterday when I walked into the laundry room and Steve demanded I strip. Oh, don’t go getting all excited, when you’ve been married 13 years and your spouse demands that you strip, it’s because they want your laundry not your body. So I dutifully strip and throw my clothes in the laundry while I’m oogled by the demanding laundry dictator. About an hour later, I yell “Shit!” and run to the washing machine where I can hear Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! and as I stare mournfully into the front door of the washer Steve comes in and asks what’s wrong. I look at him like somebody died. “My cell phone is in there.” He yells “What?! Well stop it!” “It’s too late, only one minute left on the cycle.” I moan. I wince with each Clunk! Finally neither of us can take it and we stop the washer. He can’t take it due to his love for electronics. I can’t take it because my calendar is in there. NOT backed up. And I have no idea where I’m supposed to be or what I’m supposed to do without it. I send myself reminders and notes and set the alarm so I remember what I’m supposed to be doing. I am literally lost without my phone. I obey the beeps because they command my every waking moment. I try not to cry. I wonder desperately how I’ll remember when I’m supposed to go where. “My calendar is not backed up” I moan again. Steve starts chanting “I can fix this. It will be ok. It will dry out. At least you didn’t drop it in the toilet.” (His brother did that and just decided to flush it on down. lol.) So Steve took apart my phone and left it’s guts all over the table to dry.

The problem with my cell phone is that it still has the 650 area code. When we moved here last May, I stubbornly held onto my cell phone. I have never changed to a local phone number. When Steve put my phone back together this morning it turned on. “BACK UP THE CALENDAR!!! HURRY BEFORE IT DIES!!!!” I screamed. Steve rushed to my laptop and started backing it up. Suprisingly the phone and computer were able to sync. I’ve got my calendar. But the phone seems to have developed cancer in the washing machine and it’s only a matter of time before it dies. So now I have to get a new phone. That means leaving the 650 and getting a local number. I will mourn the loss of my phone. I love this phone. Goodbye 650.

Thanks to Shaymus for finding this…

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 18 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

Just checking. I wanted to see if Maryam was lying. So am I funny or do you need more to drink?

I’m gonna have to continue the sex and booze post later. I gotta go get ready for a Halloween party. For the past 10 years I’ve been a witch every Halloween. I was thinking I might be an angel this year. Until Steve said, “Uh, I don’t think so honey, you’re no angel.” So I bought a devil costume. I know, I know, and me without my broom and all. But I got a pitchfork now. Watch what you say. Oh and you gotta see my shirt……

<more sex and booze to come>

He leaves me love notes on the refridgerator magnets.

You’re getting sleepy…..very sleepy……
You feel relaxed…..very relaxed……
NOW SEND ME ALL YOUR MONEY!
When I count to ten you’ll wake up and you won’t remember a thing. Except to send me all your money.
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10!

Note the person guilty of keeping me up all night. Cute but sassy. Does not play well with others. And no you can’t have her phone number. Although I’ll consider it if she tries any further shenanigans next time we go out.  

I prize friendship and loyalty above most other things in life. To me, your friends are the people you KNOW you can count on when the chips are down. That when everything goes wrong, as it sometimes will, you know unequivocally you can count on that friend, no questions asked.

If you’ve ever had a crisis in your life, you’ll know what I’m talking about. People you thought were your friends run for cover and disappear or worse, do the wrong thing. Even worse than that is that when they have their own agenda and put that above loyalty. I understand that people make mistakes. That things are not always as they seem, but those are the times when loyalty counts even more.

I try to surround myself with people who I know I can count on. When I was younger, it was critical for my survival. As an adult, I have little tolerance for any deviation from these certain qualities in people that could have been so detrimental to me as a teen. I left home when I was 15 and have had a tumultuous relationship with my family ever since. I had a very difficult adolescence. It’s very tough to be 15 and worry about where your next meal is coming from and where you’re going to sleep. It’s tough to work, support yourself, and go to school when your peers are worrying about who kissed who and what they’re wearing to the prom.

I see the world in black and white. People you can count on, people you can’t. I have a very difficult time seeing and appreciating the grays. Steve tries to teach me all the time that people can have good qualities and then be not so good at stuff, but I see a liar as a liar, a traitor as a traitor, and there’s just no in-betweens for me. I can still be civil, even maintain a casual friendship, but once someone has let me down, it’s never the same.  I put them on a mental black list and write them off forever. Then we drift apart and that’s ok for me. I’ve let many friendships die. Just walked away and never looked back because I know that when hell breaks loose, that person is not someone I want watching my back. And hell likes to break loose a lot in my life.

I have a friend who really taught me how to be a friend, and then when things went wrong, she let me down. We’ve drifted apart. It’s the way it has to be. Because I know if my life’s hanging in the balance as it so often did when I was younger, I don’t want to have to rely on her. She could get me hurt or killed. I can’t stop with the siege mentality. I know that I’m an adult now, I know that I do not need people to be true or reliable or trustworthy or loyal in every situation, and yet, I can not turn that survival instinct off.

Unfortunately, it’s very short list of people I truly know I can count on. I have friends that do not know that I am aware of what I would term as a massive betrayal of our friendship. I go on casually but know that I will never, ever be able to trust them again. I spent the early part of life learning hard lessons and learning to read people quickly. I rely on perceptiveness and gut instinct more than anything people say or do. Tell me you did the right thing when it counted, but if I happen to know differently, I will never trust you again.

A friend of mine called me late last night as I was climbing into bed. She’s one of those friends I know I can count on no matter what ever happens. I was exhausted. I’ve had a long, hard, exhausting week. I needed sleep. But I talked to her for 2 hours until my phone battery died. Why? Because it’s about loyalty. It’s about friendship. It’s about being there when someone needs you to listen. Or needs your shoulder to cry on. Or needs your help. It’s about putting friendship, loyalty, and trust before yourself. Because that’s what friends do.

In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m an old-fashioned southern cook and stay at home domestic Goddess. I worship all things Martha Stewart and I make everything from scratch. Which is why when I read this post I laughed REALLY hard. I know the feeling.

Anyway, lately my new cooking goal is to lower the fat in a lot of my favorite recipes. Fudge is one of my biggest weaknesses. I LOVE fudge. And I only make it at one time during the year. From October to Christmas. That’s it. That’s the way my mother did it, my grandmother did it and I think even my great grandmother did it. Nothing says the holidays to me like fudge. And last year, nothing said fat on my ass quite like fudge. Making fudge is a complicated, elaborate process involving just the right heat on the stove, candy thermometers, a massive arm workout from stirring thick, gooey goodness quickly enough to keep it from setting and turning, and then sweating over the stove during the whole process. There’s nothing quite like sweating over then burning your tongue on a hot pot of fudge.

So anwyay, you will imagine my delight when I figured out how to make perfectly smooth, delicious fudge in three minutes in the microwave. No sweating, no stove, and no thermometers to make sure it comes out perfectly. It’s low in fat and calories (compared to regular fudge- don’t go eating the whole damn pan) and my husband actually likes it better. He says the other fudge is so sweet it makes his teeth hurt. I’m a huge fan and my kids devoured an entire pan in 2 days. Steve says it makes a good breakfast dessert. lol. As always, the higher the quality of chocolate that you use, the better the fudge. Chocolate chips will work but try to use at least Baker’s Semi Sweet Squares.

Easy 3 minute microwave fudge:

1 can fat free condensed milk (NOT evaporated)
18 ounces semi sweet chocolate (or 3 cups of chips)
pinch of salt
1.5 tsp. vanilla
1 7 oz. jar marshmallow creme (I used Kraft Jet Puffed)

Microwave milk, chocolate and salt for 1.5 minutes. Stir. Microwave 30 more seconds and stir again. Keep alternating stirring and checking every 30 seconds until mixture is smooth. It takes  less than 3 minutes in my microwave. If you microwave it too long or microwave without stirring, the chocolate will seize and it will be ruined. When chocolate is melted stir in vanilla and marshmallow creme. Pour into greased (with butter) 8×8 pan. Refridgerate until set. This doesn’t need to be refridgerated once it is set. Cut into squares and serve. Serves 18 (approximately 2×2 inch pieces in 11×7 pan- 238 cal per piece. 5 points weight watchers.)

Enjoy!

If you’re wondering what the new Flickr pics are, go over to Maryam’s blog to read about what we were all up to last night.

People used to call me that a lot when I was younger. You’d think that I woulda looked that one up or something because for the early part of my life I had no idea what it meant. I always just smiled a tight smile because I never knew whether it was a compliment or an insult.

But now when I hear Helen of Troy, I go oh yeah, the face that launched 1,000 ships. Or in the case of this evening, the cleavage that launched 1,000 ships. I got picked up by a guy that had no idea I was with Steve and that was his pick-up line. “What’s your name? Ah, Helen of Troy…..” I wanted to say “Or you can call me what most people call me: Hellion. Now stand still so I can kick you in the nuts. “

I have rage. Well, it’s mostly gone now, but earlier I had rage. My washing machine broke (and strangely Steve wasn’t out of town, plumbing ALWAYS waits until he is out of town.) So I went online and booked an appointment with Sears to come and fix it. My appointment time was between 8 and 12. Which is pretty annoying, that I have to sit and wait for 4 hours. And they make you sit by the phone. They call during that time and if you don’t answer, they don’t show up. That happened one time when I was in the bathroom. I tried running with my pants down and didn’t get there in time. I had waited FOUR HOURS for them and then they didn’t come because I didn’t answer the effin phone.

So anyway, noon comes and goes. I have to leave to take son #2 to gymnastics and by this time I am livid. I was working myself up when my cell finally rang at 1:10. I was in the gym, doing push ups and my phone rang. I’m pumped and feeling mean because I hurt. And I let loose the flood gates of hell on him. And instead of being apologetic he tried to tell me that he had me on the schedule for 1, and that he didn’t see what the problem was. Surely if there had been an error it wasn’t his fault. Which only fed my fury. He seemed stupid and had an attitude. After ripping him a new one, he agreed to show up at 2:20. As it turns out, he wasn’t a bad guy and what I had perceived as stupidity and an attitude was actually that he was wearing hearing aids and has the speech of someone who was deaf. Boy did I feel like an ass. I still hate Sears, but I did not continue to vent the force of my fury on him like I would have had someone shown up that many hours late with an attitude problem.

So here I sit. Only mildly pacified because my washer is fixed. I have decided that my rage is due to pain. I have taken stock of the things that hurt and decided it annoys me that things hurt. Here is a list of the things that hurt:

My upper back.
My lower back.|
The middle of my back.
The back of my back.
The back of my front.
The side of my side.
The other side of my side.
Above my ass.
Below my neck.
Behind my arms.
Above my legs.

Oh and also my knee hurts.

In case you were wondering, the gym and running club didn’t help…..

Update: 9:06 pm I have just discovered that my washing machine is actually NOT fixed. $160 and it’s not fixed at all. AND I have to pay $45 just to make another appointment. SOMEONE will pay for this and it won’t be me…..

So I’m just letting your know that me and Mr. Askimet have made up. We’re on the same side now that he’s learned not to delete my own comments. He’s become downright efficient deleting dozens of comment spam per day.

I have no tolerance for spam, comment spam, trackback spam, sbots, and sblogs for these are the target of my liberally applied delete button on a daily basis.

I love comments when real people have got something to say. Even if it’s about feet. (Ok, no I hate the feet comments, but that hasn’t stopped you all.) Even if it’s only Hi. But don’t post Hi and then a link to your sblog. I will have to have you killed. Or at least 9 of your 10 fingers broken in a minimum of three places. I may also be forced to remove your spleen. (That was for you, DB.)

I do not need valium, cialas, bigger boobs or a larger johnson. I do not want a new vacuum cleaner, vitamins, or college degree for my life experience. I’m not buying your stock, your watches, or your name brand shoes. I do not need your weight loss plan, your weight loss pills, or your weight gain powder. I do not need my husband to have an erection for the next 3 days. He does that all by himself. And yes, I may have to consult my doctor about that. I do not need a loan or a new mortgage and I don’t speak Chinese. Why the f*** do you keep sending me Chinese spam, anyway?!

So tell me something funny, talk feet or just say hi, but if you leave spam, I will have to speak to my father, AKA The Don, and have you removed.

For the first time ever, Martha Stewart failed me. I made her “Truck Stop Cinnamon Rolls.” It would be much more appropriate to call them “Door Stop Cinnamon Rolls.” Steve called them “Truck Stop Bathroom Rolls.” Feel free to suggest any other clever names you might think of…..

I have sustained injury in yet another freak accident. My back is killing me. Yesterday I took down this planter hanging from a tree because with winter coming some of the plants are dying and it needed to be replanted. I did not want to wait for Steve to rehang it, because it will sit there for the next six months while I nag him to hang it. Then he’ll only end up hanging it because he tripped over it and broke his toe.

Unfortunately for me, the hook is pretty high up, so I had to hug this tree, stretch to the very tips of my fingers, then suspend the 30 lb. basket out from my body and try to get it onto the hook. It really hurt my back.

I had a training session today at the gym and told my trainer what happened. He looked at me and said “Of all the weird injuries you’ve received……….so you’re telling me I have to take it easy on you today because you sustained a plant hanging injury?” as he tried not to laugh. But then he did.

Let me just say that feet are disgusting. I gag when I see people with that nasty toenail shit where it turns all yellow and looks likes it might start sprouting mushrooms. And the kind of foot crap like athlete’s feet, warts, sores, blisters, you name it, totally horrifies me. Seriously, the worst job in the whole effin world has to be a podiatrist. I’d rather have my face up in gineys and asses all day, rather than that. I used to have a roomate with the worst smelling feet you could possibly imagine. Vinegar smells FABULOUS compared to those. I’d make him put his shoes back on just so I could breathe.

It should be against the law for 90% of the population to wear sandals and open toe shoes. My husband has these long ass toes, that he uses like disgusting fingers to pick stuff up or pinch me with. It’s horrific. The kinda stuff my nightmares are made of. And he and my sister have those nasty second toes longer than the big toe. What the hell is that? Some alien hybrid toe? Seriously, it’s utterly revolting.  Toes should be in a neat little arc and get smaller as they go towards the outside. They should be free of any kind of skin abnormality or fungus. And if your toes aren’t all fingery looking, you can adorn them with some pretty polish and jewelry. Here let me show you. The modeling agencies are clamoring to feature my feet in all the new foot ads. They’re the next new rage in runway feet.

Now let us never speak of feet again. And stop leaving feet comments for me. They’re just disgusting.

I’ve been told I have a unique way of speaking, I spent the first 14 years of my life in the deep south, New Orleans, Louisiana to be exact. We moved to California when I was a teenager. I can remember practicing how to say words over and over in the California style, words like: book, thing, wash. I had to learn to pronounce every syllable and not sit on the vowels. I remember being teased a little so I would sit in my room practicing the word WASH until I completely erased the Louisiana pronunciation- worsh. Saying thing instead of thang took work.

The one subltey of California language I was never able to master is a quick cadence of speech. People from California speak quickly. And although I mostly erased my Louisiana accent, I never mastered the art of speaking quickly. And the Louisiana accent comes back if I’m tired, drunk or return to Louisiana. Talking to relatives brings it back too.

My mother-in-law’s boyfriend is from Guatemala and he told me once that of all the people he has met in America, he has the hardest time understanding me. He says I put the emphasis on different parts of words than other people. That my speech is slower than other people’s. That sometimes I pronounce entire words and vowels differently. Up until that point, I pretty much thought I had erased my accent. But it’s there. I know it is. There are somedays I hear myself saying tal instead of towel. Or strolla instead of stroller. I’m too old to care now. Tease me if you want. I’ll just kick you in the nuts.

Anyway, I found the following quiz (for fun) on blogthings. What’s YOUR lingustic profile?

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

I have no idea where the Yankee came from, I’ve never even been to the Northeast. Glad to see it thinks I don’t have much dixie left. They didn’t hear me speak though. Steve still makes fun of me for saying “I’m going to the grocery.” He always yells “STORE! GROCERY STORE!” after I say it…..

Anyway ya’ll, Imunna go change my draws. Don’t want anyone seein’ me nekkid either. Last night, after suppa I saw ya’ll tryin to peek…..

For the last month, I’ve had to visit the eye doctor at least once a week, sometimes more, between issues I’m having with my eyes and my son’s deteriorating vision. The eye doctor is kinda cute, so we’ll just call him Dr. McDreamy.

Last week when I took son in, I was 3 days into that illness and looked like absolute hell. I didn’t have the energy to say more than 3 words to him. I’m finally feeling a little better today so I decided I would actually run with the kids in running club today and then we’d go straight to Dr. McDreamy’s office.

Since this is Seattle, no sports, clubs, concerts, events, etc. are ever cancelled due to rain.  The kids can be running shin-deep in water on the fields and the refs won’t call the games. Our coaching guidelines for baseball said “Games should only be cancelled for rain out if you can fish in the infield.” Needless to say, although it was pouring today, running club was not cancelled. I should note that since I’ve sat out a week, the kids’ stamina has improved quite a bit and my legs got a little tired today. Also I stopped to help a crying kindergartner and son #2 kept on running and it took me about 1/3 of a mile to catch up. I was actually OUT OF BREATH for the first time ever in running club.

So anyway, there I am running in the pouring rain. I am beyond soaking wet. The pockets of my jacket were filled with water because it rained in my pockets. I could see my hair falling into ringlets around my face and felt it expanding exponentially every minute I was in the rain. My face is dripping wet, and then I remembered I had on make-up. I look down at my chest to see black tears dripping onto it. Effin great. I’m going to see Dr. McDreamy looking like Alice Cooper meets Tammy Faye Baker. I surmised that I probably smelled like a wet dog too. My hair looked like Courtney Cox’s in that Friends episode where they went to the Bahamas. I’m telling you, I have been so HOT lately!

I saw one of my friends who did not recognize me at first. It was the Alice Cooper make up, I’m sure of it. I screamed when I saw myself in the rearview mirror of the car. I wondered if I’d be charged for the appointment if I called in scary. My son really needed to be checked so I wiped my face off with a 2 inch square of my shirt which was the only dry object for miles around. I was rained through to 2 layers, but the tsunami did not reach the third layer- my shirt. I could not get my zombie eyes totally cleaned up but I looked more like I’d been punched in both eyes, rather than made up for an episode of Tales from the Crypt. I tried to hide in the corner, but I think Dr. McDreamy might have noticed. I quickly apologized for smelling like a wet dog. He said we smelled better than the person in the other room and most of the people that come in. Glad I don’t work there.

I’m home now and totally chilled to the bone. Even my underwear is wet. And I have mud splattered all over my ass and back. I supposed this is a step up from the dumpster diver I looked like the other day. Perhaps by next week I can look like my usual, super model self when I go back again to see Dr. McDreamy.  

I went onto the site 25 peeps. You’re supposed to put a picture and your blog URL and then it’s a contest to see if you can get enough hits to stay up on the page. You get points for links both to and from the blog. Steve got a little nervous when I was trying to decide which picture to put up. Many of the girls posted cleavage or otherwise…uh….well…..sexual pictures. Which made Steve freak out even more. I’ve already said I was done posting gratuitous cleavage shots, so I found a picture from a Microsoft Halloween Party that we went to. I’m dressed as a witch. You can stop snickering at the irony now. Heard it. Steve was happy with that picture because it was irreverent. Check it out and give me points.

I just found my fly down for the second time in two days. Apparently I have received brain damage from this illness and am now incapable of zipping up.

I wonder how long I have walked around with this zipper down. Was it down when I was talking to the cute drama teacher? Was my red, lacy thong hanging out while I was telling the kids at school to settle down? Was it down when I was walking to the bus stop at noon and that’s why I almost got hit by a car? What about when I went to drop off some stuff at another’s mom’s house? I planned a party with my fly down at school today. Seriously, I was walking around Seattle with my fly down talking to people possbily all day long and I have no idea who saw it. I am so humiliated……

As you’ll recall, yesterday I was puzzled over the fact that I was getting a huge amount of traffic over a blog entry I did awhile ago. It’s not puzzling that I was getting traffic, of course, because I am truly hilarious, but I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.

I slept on my problem and finally figured it out. I strongly suspect I have been put on a rolfing list serve. The damn perverts. There has been an angry uprising of militant Rolfers who have found my blog and tried to set the record straight. They’ve been tentative in their guerilla warfare but it’s only a matter of time before there’s blood shed.

They’re angry that Miss Piggy’s sordid affair has been made public. Kermit has shut himself in his trailer and only a doctor has been allowed in to give him sedative injections. The entire muppets cast is in an uproar, with demonstrating Rolfers outside demanding that Miss Piggy now be branded with the letter “R”. They’ve blocked traffic for miles around, and have been picketing since early this morning.

On the other side of the US, a devastated Rolf has staged a bed-in with Yoko Ono, vowing not to leave the bed until this travesty is over.

It is utter mayhem, people. The National Guard is being brought in to try to restore order and the president is set to address the nation at 4 pm EST today. It appears that President Bush is going to plead with the Rolfers to leave peacefully before there is any blood shed. This is national crisis, folks. 

I will bring you breaking news as it comes over the wires. Miss Piggy has promised us an exclusive interview tomorrow morning at 9 am EST. Stay Tuned.

My friend, Maryam, wrote an entry the other day about how she was getting massive traffic on her blog and her A list, blogger husband, Robert, called and asked her to link to him. I laughed pretty hard at that. Until today…….when MY husband called and demanded to know why I had failed to give him link love. I faltered “Well, uh, you write about….uh..nerdy stuff. It’s not so funny……” “EXCUSE ME?!” he roared. “Fine. You’re funny and all. But it’s brainy, geeky humor……” And then like a very swishy, diva actor, he says “Fine. I’ll be in my trailer!” and hung up the phone. 

I’m just wondering if this is something normal couples argue about. With door slamming and sleeping on the couch because their spouse didn’t deliver the hits.

Today I am having my best WordPress day ever. Ok, it’s no where near the 50,000 hits a day I got on my best days at Spaces, but it’s my best WordPress day ever.  The statistics are such that I don’t even know exactly where the hits are coming from. Most of them seem to be going to an entry I did on rolfing when I first started blogging here. This is a tad bit frustrating, but what I find most most frustrating of all is that they are many “top blogs” that are ranking up in the Top Posts in WordPress or Top Blogs and quite frankly, I don’t know how they got there. I read the content and it….sucks. I even read the content in Spanish to make sure there’s not some elusive blog quality I might be missing. Like today I read the blog Esto es un blog. Ok that’s the description. In English it means This is a blog. And as I go on to read the profile and entry, my eyelids start to sag, I start to lose focus and then I get pissed off. Seriously, he’s talking about eating donuts with some dude named Nacho and I’m sticking my neck out here telling the world I hadn’t shaved my legs in a week! The furryness was so bad, Steve grabbed a nail clipper and was trying to trim it like a smart ass while I’m on the phone. And yet Nacho and his compadres are ranking up at the top of WordPress! WTF?!

I visit Technorati and it’s the same thing. Give me some FUNNY blogs. I want root-beer-through-the-nose funny. I DEMAND root-beer-through-the-nose funny. Or give me something to think about. Thought provoking. And for God’s sake spare me the I love Jesus talk (there really was no pun intended there.) I absolutely HATE when I come to a blog and they’ve got the in-your-face Jesus talk. Like so uncomfortably Jesus oriented that you need to leave immediately lest you get God all over you and your shoes. Oh I love God and all, but yesterday he hated me. He might still hate me today.

I don’t want to hear either about how we should pull out of Iraq, or about which politician is more corrupt. Isn’t corrupt the definition of politician? I’m pretty sure I looked that one up. 

I think what this comes down to is I am in search of my peeps. DB Cooper blogged that he went in search of his peeps. Now he’s fricken’ funny. He’s my type of peeps. Maybe we need to share blogrolls.

And I found this new blog called The Underpaid Kept Woman. When she fell off her ladder because Churchie McJesus rang the doorbell to ensure that Jesus Christ was her Lord and Savior and startled her, I literally almost died laughing.

I’ve been reading Scott Adams lately and Scott’s a smart guy. He’s funny AND thought provoking. Ok I don’t always want to think, but laugh, yes, I always want to laugh.

And I found this blog called Anonymous Lawyer that’s pretty damn funny. Ok, it must be because my heart is dark and shriveled and 10 sizes too small that I find it funny. Because Steve just sat there horrified. I told him he needs to get out there and meet more lawyers or something. But he just said “You have your father’s dark and shriveled heart.”

My friend, Becky, turned me onto a blog called The Naked Ovary. I like parenting blogs that view the daily insanity we go through as parents with a sense of humor. This lady is funny because she just adopted a 14 month old little girl from China. And everything you’ve already been through as a parent she finds new, horrifying and shocking. Like the fact that babies can shit UP their backs and manage to soil every clean piece of laundry (yours and theirs) that you own. Or that babies wake up in the middle of the night and want to play. ALLLLL NIGHHT. It’s funny to relive those things through the eyes of someone whose never been there and has NOT been eased into it. I imagine this is much like it will be when my sister has children (you didn’t just see me make the sign of the cross.)

I can just hear the phone calls now, 2 a.m. and my sister on the other end of the phone screaming “WTF IS THIS? HOW CAN SHIT FROM THEIR ASS GET INTO THEIR HAIR? IT’S LIKE THERE WAS A SHIT HURRICANE INSIDE THE PAJAMAS!” and “DOESN’T THIS KID KNOW MY KATE SPADE PURSE IS NOT A BOAT AND DOES NOT BELONG IN THE BATHTUB?” I give her 6 months tops before she tries to put the kid up on Ebay.

But I digress. I am still wondering why certain blogs are at the top and I was searching for my peeps. I was also wondering how some of you lurkers found your way here.  Perhaps I’m just in search of people I can relate to.  I had an 11 year old girl (allegedly) post today and link to her blog. And I go to check it out and it has her name, her parents and sibling names, her school, where she lives. And in my head I’m screaming “OMG! WHO IS SUPERVISING THIS KID?!” If this kid is truly 11, she’s probably the most literate 11 year old I’ve ever met. That’s not even mentioning the fact that she is Indian so English is her second language. (Ah, now the allegedly becomes clear.) Oh look, all the pedophiles just got up and left my blog….

So here’s a toast to my best day at WordPress. And to finding my peeps. And to stepping on all those people while I climb over them to get to the top. Salud!