A Mish-Mash of a Post In Which I Ramble. Welcome to My ADD.

Did I ever tell you about the time I ran a marathon?

Oh, that's right, cuz I didn't.

I have zero urge to run.  Like, ever.

Sure, I'll run after Wee One when it seems she's heading straight for the street or about to dash away in a crowded store.

Sure, I'll run if a brain hungry zombie is after me.

But to run "for fun?"  Doesn't make one bit of sense to my mind.

I'll walk all day long.  I'll even bike.

But hit the pavement and run?  Not a fun idea to me.

Still, I'm buying running shoes.  I figure it's part of being prepared. For zombies and swine flu and the super volcano and climate change.  Plus, I haven't bought new tennis shoes in years and my old ones are pretty much shot.


Also, where did spring go?  It went from cold-ass winter to hot-ass summer in like, a week.  I hate 100 degrees and humid.  Hate it.

Did I tell you we got a new kitten?  She's super adorable and now that she's feeling at home, she's super naughty.  Like, don't you dare move or breathe whilst you sleep or you'll be attacked by a barely 2 pound mighty huntress.

Also, because I'm always late to the game and forgetful, I'm needing to post about an award I was given recently.  It's the Versatile Blogger award.   

The super sweet, super funny, super Canadian, average artist (well if I can't win a Shitionary I'm gonna pout!) Marianna Annadanna from Snappy Surprise bestoweth this award unto me in April and asshole that I am, somehow missed it. If you aren't already, follow her stat.  She rocks. Probably in a housecoat.

Then this week, Jess over at Ramblings of an Emotional Idiot, bestoweth the same award unto me.  She cracks me up, and seriously, just based off of her writing and her about me on her blog, I feel strongly she is my twin separated at birth.  


After looking up the word versatile, I found that it's just a fancy word for attention deficit, so I'm honored by this award.  Truly.  
The rules of this award are simple, but I'll probably fuck it up anyway....
Thank the giver of the award, link back to him/her, list seven things about myself, and pass it on to some other bloggers.   (the technical number is 15, but I'm a rule breaker.  Like, drive 5 mph over the speed limit, litter at times, cross in the middle of the street not crosswalk, rule breaker.)


1.  I don't like to shower.  I mean, I do shower, and often, but I don't look forward to it.  It's not fun for me.  I get in and out as fast as I can (that's what he said) because there are better things to do.  Some people are all, oh I can't wait for a long, hot shower, or, I can't wait to soak in my tub.  That's a foreign concept to me.  
2.  When I was little, my grandparents lived on a farm, which was basically still inside town, but only like 700 people lived there, so town was rural at the same time.  Mind blowing?  Anyways, they had chickens, and my five year old self loved watching Grandpa slaughter chickens.  He didn't even use an ax, he'd just break their necks and rip their heads off.  UGH.  I credit this early viewing of sadism and animal butchery with my love of horror movies today.
3.  I'm not sure what I want to be when I grow up.  Sure, if you wanna get all technical, I'm already a "grown up" with a full time job.  But is it what I want to do until  retirement?  I'm not so sure.  I need to go buy some lottery tickets.
4.  I'm a Facebook stalker.  I like looking at other people's pictures.  I'm nosy.  I want to know what you're up to and where you've traveled to and what your kids look like.  
5.  I won second place in my fourth grade spelling competition, and I'm still effin pissed about it.  I was robbed, sonsabitches! 
6.  I mowed the lawn once and decided, meh, not for me.  Haven't mowed it since.  I hate the lawn.
7.  I'm obsessed with young adult fiction.  Particularly dystopian, end-of-the-world, zombie, apocalyptic, vampire vs. werewolf plots.  Some of my favs are the Maze Runner series from James Dashner, the Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins, The Forest of Hands and Teeth series by Carrie Ryan, the Matched series by Allie Condie, The City of Ember books by Jeanne DuPrau, and the Chemical Garden trilogy by Lauren DeStefano.


So, who can I pass this on to?  Plenty of awesome bloggers!  
1.  Andrea over at bitchypants, the artist formerly known as Being Veruca.
2.  Jess over at Cleveland Rocks.
3.  SherilinR at laughing my abs off.
4.   Ms. Mediocre over at Life in the Mediocre Lane. 
5.    MandaRoo at Misadventures of Life and Such
6.  Kelly at Naked Girl in a Dress.
7.  Aimee at Pleasantly Demented
8.  Redhead at Redhead Ranting
9.  I'm don't care what she says I'm passing it back to Marianna Annadanna at Snappy Surprise.  She already has one, but she's getting it again.  I'm sure she'll like getting it multiple times.  (uh oh, that sounded dirty)
10.  I just met her on Twitter and she's a great writer, Nicole at The Confirmed Ache
11. Rachel at The Rachel Chronicles
12.   This Side of Typical


So go do some reading, some commenting, some following if you haven't already!
Enjoy!

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At Long Last I Can Go Hiking and Get My Arm Trapped By a Boulder!

Thanks to the ever manly, studly, funny, sexy (his adjective contribution) witty, bicep torn, charming, perverted, probably damp with a chronic wrist cramp Rodney over at Mental Poo, I can fulfill this life long wish mentioned in the title.... getting trapped while hiking.

Actually, it's not a life long wish, I just happen to have recently watched 127 Hours, and then ironically, the very next day, the "survival kit" I won at random from his blog arrived at my door.  It's like he knows my every move....

Be jealous. The fact that he had a give-away, and the fact that I won it, makes us both fucking awesome.
A water bottle, flashlight, and multi use tool/knife thingy will always be in my car.  In case of sudden submersion under water or zombie invasion.

Thanks Mooog! Everyone, go check out his blog, stat.  You'll laugh until you pee but you'll sit in your cold, shameful wet pants for hours because you won't be able to stop reading his stuff and laughing.  And therefore, more peeing.  It's a vicious, vicious cycle.

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Actual Photographic *Proof* That Jesus Showed Up For The Rapture, but Then Got Too Busy Doing Something Else to Follow Through

After it became completely apparent that there wasn't going to be any Rapture taking place yesterday, the Hubby left the kiddos and I to join the guys in a bachelor party for my soon to be brother-in-law.
The details of what transpired last night will probably be kept secret for all time, however, there is something major that the Hubby did share.  A photo.  From a small town, middle of nowhere bar, where some small town band was playing it up.
Hold on to your keyboard/coffee/beer.
Behold.

Boy band, rockin it out.
But look closer.

Check out the drummer.

JESUS ON THE DRUMS, BITCHES!!!
JESUS, NOT WEARING A SHIRT, ROCKING. IT. OUT

Some people see Jesus in a cloud.  Some see him in their grilled cheese sandwich.
My husband saw Jesus in a hick bar, playing the drums. 
When he was scheduled to Rapture.
Silly Jesus.  Just wanting to have a good time on a Saturday night. 
Hope he was able to get up for church this morning. 

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If I Die Young, Bury Me in Dirt, Not Satin. Preferably in a Box. Wearing Footie Jammies.

Jillsmo over at Yeah Good Times had the best idea for a post, so like all dedicated copy cats, I'm borrowing her idea and trying it out myself.  Check out her blog, by the way.  She is super funny.  And she's on the Twitter too. 
Go to tombstonebuilder.com and try out making your own headstone.
Here are the options I'll be giving my Hubby to puruse through for when I'm dead.
Enjoy!

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I Sure Hope I Get the Last Laugh On This One.

So for weeks I've been making fun of this May 21 Rapture stuff but like all true hypochondriacs, when I make myself obsess over something long enough, I eventually become convinced it just may be real.
Remind me to tell you about the time I had a brain tumor and a deep vein thrombosis AND Parkinson's all at the exact same time.  FML.

Anyway, I've been laughing at all these people who are convinced the world is ending this weekend and I even facetiously posted about how I'll be left behind (to go through people's stuff.  I've always wanted to do that.) and then Earth will be crushed by a giant, flaming vagina.
But now my inner doubt is starting to make me wonder if it couldn't be true and  

oh holy hell I really AM going to be left behind to suffer!   

 I'm kinda scared after all! 

I've decided that it's better to be safe than sorry and I've promised Jesus I'll behave and not say the f word anymore and I'll stop telling people to suck it and I'll also stop the thousands of other sins I can't even keep track of, many of which relate to making fun of and judging others *ahem, extreme couponers*, as well as personal physical pleasure (That will stop Friday by midnight at the latest). This is, of course, in exchange for my and my family's safety on Saturday. I will become a better person from here on out I swear and my fingers aren't even crossed.  I think that my pleas may have touched Jesus's heart because if there's one thing Jesus appreciates it's gotta be false promises and ultimatums based on selfish reasons, with some bribery and manipulation mixed on.  

By the way, my inner doubt lives in my tummy and looks like this:

 

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How I Single-handedly Cancelled the "Rapture." OR, At Least Guaranteed My Spot in Heaven to Avoid the Ensuing Chaos

Here's what I understand about the "Rapture," aka end of world.

Keep in mind I don't go to church much anymore, and I don't read the Bible, so my information comes strictly from the Left Behind series.  And by series, I mean the ONE movie I watched of it because Kirk Cameron was in it and I used to love love love Growing Pains.

One day, out of the blue, millions of people will just disappear.  Poof!
But only the good people.  The "saved" people.  Meaning good Christian people, right?
Ok, so they all disappear, poof, leaving behind chaos and confusion and LOADS of smelly underwear and socks because no one in heaven needs undergarments and it's barefoot 24/7.  THAT I did read in the Bible once.  It's all fields of grass and flowers and clouds so no shirt, no shoes, no problem.

Anyway, us sinners will be left behind to battle it out with Satan, or something like that.  Pretty sure I couldn't win that battle with my powers of manipulation and flirting for free beers.  But, since we did get Osama bin Laden, Satan has to be just a little intimidated by America.

What's the point here?
If this really does happen someday (or May 21 like some freak shows are claiming) I'm totally gonna be left behind.  Fact.
So the Hubby and I were discussing this because:
a. it's scheduled to be on a Saturday, so hopefully we get to sleep in a bit first, maybe have a coffee or two.
b. our children will disappear because they're perfect and innocent and basically angels from heaven anyway (I thank God for them everyday.)
c.  we'll be some PISSED OFF parents if we find our kids are suddenly gone.  Jesus himself won't want to bump into me if my kids are taken from me.
d.  probably not a good idea to threaten Jesus with my own wrath.
e.  See?  This girl is totally gonna be left behind.

Hubby thought he'd just hang on tightly to the Wee One while she was lifted up by angels to heaven and I could hold tight to Bossy Girl.  You know, get a free ride.  But I reminded him that people probably won't just suddenly be lifted up, they'll just evaporate because Kirk Cameron says so.  Basically we'll be childless and scared and bitter and alone. 
Great.  We're already two out of those four things  already.

After our talk, Wee One was trying to climb into my lap but she had a nasty load of shitty diaper so the Hubby took her to go change her diaper.  A huge temper tantrum commenced as he tried to peel her off of her mommy.  I mean, huge temper tantrum.  (gotta love almost 2 year olds).

I immediately looked up at the kitchen ceiling and said, "See that Jesus?  See what happens when you take her from her mommy?  You'll be listening to that for all eternity."

I'm hoping He got the point.  And if He did, the Rapture has been postponed indefinitely.   Or like I said, I'll be taken up too, so all's good from my standpoint.

This post needs pictures.  I Googled rapture and got this:

Oops.  Guess Jesus was busy that day.  His alarm clock didn't go off or something. Rain check please!

Then I wanted to get a preview of how it'll end so I Googled "how will the world end?"

What I found was shocking.

The world will be crushed by a giant, fiery vagina.  All the Monistat 7 in the world won't be able to help us.
Really though?  A vagina?  That's just weird, Jesus.  

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Well Well Well, Look Who Decided to Start Working Again.

Dear Blogger,
I was starting to worry that due to this shitty economy you were laid off because your job went overseas and you would be collecting unemployment while watching Maury Povich and eating potato chips all day and I'd never get to blog again.  CAN YOU EVEN FATHOM THAT CRAZINESS?? Which of course would have lead to some sort of crack in the space time continuum, causing Earth to suddenly travel back in time roughly a half million years and then spiral into a massive black hole where we'd spin and spin for all eternity and no one would hear our endless screaming. We'd be screaming so much because, you know, the spinning. I hate being dizzy. Oh, and the dinosaurs. (I think they were around a half million years ago. Not sure. I'll have to read Palin's book to fact check that.) Plus if we're that far back in time we also wouldn't have cell phones and Internet and Doritos and vibrators so we'd really be SOL.
Glad to see you're back. For now I guess. Don't ever do that for so long again.
I don't want the world to end.
Plus, you totally fucked with my stats. I was kicking ass numbers-wise until your little disappearing act.
Sincerely,
Me

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I'm Like a Superhero. A Bitter, Bitter Superhero.

So today at work I voluntarily took on an extra little "project" because someone else who was originally supposed to do it did such a lame, half-assed, pathetic job it just simply had to be redone and who decides to raise her hand and be all, "me! me! I'll do it! I can totally knock it out in no time flat because I'm awesome"?

You guessed it, *this* girl, points at self in martyr-like fashion, sighs at the burden of being *necessary* and *invaluable* and basically a hero.

Not like I already don't have a thousand zillion things to do...

When I sat down at my computer and opened a new Word document to get started typing, I found I just couldn't do it. It became physically impossible.  I'd stare at the blank page, and then immediately get up and walk away from my desk to find something else to do. Then after a while I'd make myself go back and try again. Yet again, I'd stare, fidget, and proceed to do nothing.  After maybe an hour of doing other actual work tasks, I suddenly got super motivated to get it done. I sat down to type, and ended up typing one effing line before I immediately turned away and straightened my paper piles, sharpened my pencils, surfed the Internets, stared at the document for a bit and avoided it some more, daydreamed, wrinkled my nose at the computer, growled at the computer, emailed a coworker to please God help me get this done. Like even half. Do half please. Preferably the first half cuz then he'd be on a roll and might as well just go ahead and do it all.  No such luck.  Sonofabitch. 

I eventually got myself to type an entire friggin paragraph before my ADD kicked in again.  This time I looked through pages and pages of Natalie Dee archives, got a Mt. Dew from soda machine, emailed more people, texted, did more actual real job work, viewed Honey Badger on YouTube a couple of times, caught up on some blogs, glared and growled at the computer screen again, spun in my chair a few times, and made a rubber band ball.

Then, when I got my ass focused yet again to resume typing, I somehow managed to get pretty much the entire thing done.  Whew.  What a relief. But then, out of nowhere, probably because God hates me, my motherfuckingsonofabitchen computer froze up and I lost the document. Gone.  Poof.  Not recoverable.

You know how you just read about all of my ADD evasive maneuvers to avoid work?  Well, I pretty much did them all again, but this time PISSED the hell off and bitter.  I was pissed at everyone I work with because poor, sweet, saintly, do gooder me, has to do all the ever-lovin work in this Goddamn place, assholes!

Yes, I technically volunteered to do it but doesn't that just mean someone eventually feels bad for me and comes to my rescue, taking it over for me so I don't have to do it anymore?  When did, "yes, I'll go ahead and do it" turn into me actually having to follow through?  UGH.  None of those assholes cares. Like I said, I do everything around that place. (have you spotted any exaggeration yet?) They NEED me. They couldn't function without me.  I'm a frigging superhero, thankyouverymuch.

It took me almost all goddamn day but the effin thing finally got done and turned in.
It's like I saved the world.
And boy am I tired.

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In My Defense, The Librarian Was Probably Out to Ruin My Childhood and Send Me to Juvie at a Young Age

This news story was recently printed in the Chicago Tribune. A woman arrested over unpaid library fines.  Who knew they took that shit so seriously, huh?

Upon reading the article, I immediately broke out into a cold sweat.

You see, when I was in the 4th grade, I "played library" on my front porch, and not all materials *technically* made it back to the actual real library.  If that library is still keeping track, I've been on the lam for about 23 years and there's probably a warrant issued somewhere and does anyone know how much two decades worth of library fines would add up to and how much the bail amount would likely be?  Also, does Dog the Bounty Hunter work the Midwest ever? Hypothetical questions, of course.

By the way, because I feel the need to clarify, while I played librarian and school teacher and veterinarian and astronaut and wife to Jon Bon Jovi and pole dancer to Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard many times, I never "played doctor" on the front porch.  That was reserved for the toy room. Where the toy stethoscope was, obviously.  Common sense people.

Let me render you a photographic replay of the event.  (rendering post idea inspired by, but not nearly as good, as the genius of Hyperbole and a Half.)

 I probably checked out roughly two dozen books.  Hey, I had a library card, and there was no limit to how many we could check out back then.  The 1980s kicked ass on so many levels.  Garbage Pail Kids and Jelly Shoes?  Need I say more?  I promptly lugged all those books home (back when kids exercised by using their goddamn legs) and set up shop on my front porch. 

 I patiently waited for my customers.

YES, our front porch was covered with that ugly green fake turf crap.  Don't judge.  We were renting at the time.....

I may or may not have stood there alone, stupid grin on face, for quite a long period of time.  Eventually, I stormed off the porch and up the street to a friend's house.  I was gonna get an effin customer if it killed me.

The bossypants that I was took friend back to my house and demanded she check out books from my library.  Her response?  That's ALL the books you have??

She was right.  My library collection was looking sparse.  Lame, if you will. Pathetic.  I decided that I needed more books, and friend was gonna help me.  And extra set of arms = more books carried home in one trip. Plus, I exhibited my early genius by bringing along a wagon for even more books in one trip!

Back to the library, and librarian, God bless her, thought we were so cute playing library and let us check out more unlimited quantities of books to our hearts' content.

Back to the Front Porch Public Library to set up some more.

 It was about this time that people started noticing what I was doing, and other neighborhood kids came to check out my library.  Some even wanted to "check out" books!  Kick. Ass.  I quickly made a checkout pad to add to the authenticity of my library operation.

 I checked out so many goddamn books I barely had any left for myself.  But I didn't care.  My venture was a success.  And I felt good.  Damn good.

Until a few days later when I realized no one was bringing back their library books. 
And I couldn't remember who all had them.
Untrustworthy sonsabitches!
Who did they think they were checking out all my books like that and not bothering to bring them back? The hell?  Guess I'd better let them know the consequences of such behavior. 
I made this flyer and showed everyone in the neighborhood the following weekend.

I was serious as a heart attack about it.

No one was at all impressed.

Eventually, many books filtered in.... slowly.  I like to credit by persuasive skills of bribery, threatening to share secrets between friends ("A," you took an actual shit in someone's yard, like that's a secret easily kept.), and crying/temper tantrums for getting back the ones I did.

Some books, however, never made it back.

I avoided the actual public library after that and only checked out books at school.

After a few years of ignoring overdue notices, we moved for my dad's work.  Strangely, no forwarding address made it to the library.

I'd like to think they had a good laugh about the cute little girl playing library.

Probably not though.  

That librarian letting me check out all those godforsaken books?  Bitch probably hated kids and loved getting her revenge against them through library fines and notices.

Well, this post was long, wasn't it?  Better go and gather up all Bossy Girl's library books now.  I think they were due back last Friday.

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I'm Sad. Like, Bottom Lip Out, Pouty Sad. With a Tear or Two.

I logged in today and discovered that I lost a follower.

I don't know why or when or how.... but I'm sad.
Hold me.

 

Fellow bloggers, is this common?  How do I keep from taking it personally?

Was it something I said?  Wait.  This is a blog.  Of course it was something I said.  Since...you know... it's words.

What if my missing follower was forced to de-follow me by kidnappers or alien abductors?

Then it's kind of my duty to track him or her down on a rescue mission so he/she can re-follow me.

I've been thinking about other possible scenarios in which someone would de-follow my blog.

Other than kidnapping or alien abduction, I've got:

Loss of internet.

Loss of sanity.

He/she joined the Taliban.

Not enough free stuff or giveaways.

He/she became a monk/nun and took a vow of no social media.

I talk about the end of the world too much.

I don't swear enough in this blog.

There's not enough nudity in this blog.

This blog sucks.

I suck.

I'm not remotely funny.

I have no friends.

People only follow me out of pity.

I really, really suck.

Why am I even here?

Wow, this de-following thing hurts a gal's self esteem.

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"Someone" Knows His Wife Well, Now Doesn't He? Thanks Hubster!

Yesterday I came home to this on my door.

 Kick. Ass.  

I first assumed it's an anniversary gift for our upcoming 10 year.
It's not diamonds, but it's way cooler.
Turns out, it's not a gift, just a freebie.  The Hubby saw it at a sign company and thought of me. 
It seems that he really does listen to me at times, rather than just nodding and tuning me out.  After all, that's what most people do when I speak.
When I talk about all the possible apocalyptic scenarios that toss around in my mind daily, he's shown me with this sign that he's surprisingly catching tidbits and learning.  Good Hubby.
How sweet is this gesture, you guys?
Guess I'm gonna have to put out now.
Just once though.  (obviously.  It's a sign people, not a car or diamond ring)
No need to get carried away.

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100. Like 300, but 1/3 of That. Plus No Hot Half Naked Spartans.

Drum roll please.....................
Yeah, I know, stupid. No drum roll.
This.  THIS.  Is my 100th post.  Not monumental to anyone but me.
I started this happy place in November, and I've already hit 100 posts.  I love writing this blog.  I love that people read it.  I love love.
So anyway, for my 100th post, I did something monumental.
I had Osama bin Laden killed for you.
Obviously not, but how cool is today, you guys? Dead terrorist.  Rot in Piss.

I have to admit, the Hubby and I were super nervous while watching the news last night.  They were all, the President has some big announcement.  On a Sunday night.  It's something big.  Something serious.
My first thought?  Well, I pictured the dozen or so movies where the President announces a meteor hurtling towards Earth, ending our existence as a species.
See?

Seriously.  I immediately thought this scenario.  For reals.

I told the Hubby to get some shoes on and be prepared to run out and get some food and a gun.
Thankfully it wasn't a meteor about to destroy us all, but this got us thinking that we need to have a plan.
 To recap from previous posts of mine, we need a plan for the super volcano, the zombie apocalypse, a bird/swine/chicken/possum flu pandemic, and a meteor hitting the planet.  Better start digging a concrete bunker now.

So happy happy dead-terrorist, 100th post day people!  Keep it real.

 PS, enjoy a Spartan from 300

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I Embarrassed Myself in Ways that Surprised Even Me.

My sister's bridal shower and bachelorette party was this weekend.  I'm still too hungover to write a coherent, organized post, so I'm gonna list the ways I embarrassed myself, an entire town, and Jesus all in one evening.

Here's the formula for how it all started.
Too many shots + too many beers + too many fruity drinks + 5 martinis + not much food all day + not much sleep = me acting like an asshole in public.

1.  I put money between my teeth and gave it to some random woman writhing on a piano at the piano bar.  She took the money with her teeth.  There was saliva exchange, and now I think I'm gonna get herpes.
2.  I told both pianists doing the dueling piano act that I'm in love with them and they are my soulmates.
3.  I repeatedly smelled some guy on the street because his shirt smelled like dryer sheets and clean laundry.
4.  I told good-smelling guy he's my soulmate.
5.  I apologized repeatedly for my behavior.... to every friggin person I ran into or walked by.
6.  There's a picture of me bending over in front of some 8 foot tall dude outside a bar.  Dude was smiling BIG.
7.  Somehow I have some random dude's debut musical CD that he was passing out on the street.  Cuz isn't that how Usher made it?
8.  I told random musician on street that he's pretty and felt his pecs and told him he's my soulmate.
9.  I grabbed another poor random guy's shirt with my teeth and followed him around going "GRRR."
10.  It was decided about four times that another girl in the bridal party and out with us is my soul mate and will have my baby.
11.  I kissed a girl and I liked it.  There may or may not have been cherry chapstick.
12.  There may be about 20 surprise guests that no one knows at my sister's wedding because I started inviting people who looked fun.
13.  You know how once you pee when you've been out drinking, you have to pee over and over again?  They used to call it "breaking the seal" in my younger, college days.  Well, I broke it, and announced to everyone in the bathroom THREE different times, while peeing, that it was the most satisfying pee of my life.
14.  I told about a dozen women that I LOVED their shoes/pants/top/jewelry.
15.  I ran into a girl wearing the same shirt I was and we chest-bumped and declared each other soulmates.
16.  My new dance "move" is swatting my crotch area in a "jerking off" motion.  Plus I rocked the running man and the cabbage patch a tad too much.
17.  There were a couple of other bachelorette groups out last night too, and we stole a penis straw from someone and shared it to drink our beers.  Should I add syphilis to the herpes?
18.  I overused the f word, called everyone my bitches, and ended up dancing on the stage at the piano bar.  

I'd add more but I just reread this post and I'm feeling like a total asshole right now.  So I'm gonna call it good and stop while I have a shred of dignity left.  Also?  I think there's more that I'm blocking out of my memory out of pure shame.

I'm sorry for my behavior last night, readers.  You all are my soulmates and I love you.  Please forgive me.  You too Jesus, if you're reading this.  And Mom.  And pretty much everyone who ran into me last night.  Oh, and the cab drivers too.  And the pizza delivery guy. 

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