I'd Make a HORRIBLE God-Like Figure.

I recently discovered the Sims Free Play app on my iPad, and since it's free, AND fulfills my love of being nosy and bossy by making people do what I want them to do, plus snoop through their houses that I decorate, I figured I'd give it a try.

Ohmygawd am I enjoying this game, mainly for two big reasons.

A.  I can make them have sex (or "woo hoo" as the game calls it) whenever, wherever, and with whomever I want.  Let's face it.  My Sims are woo-hooing day and night.  I have one that I won't even let go to work because she's woo-hooing it up with all the boys in the neighborhood.  Whore.

B.  I can deny them food, baths, sleep, and toilet privileges til they get sick, depressed, and shit and pee themselves.

I'm pretty sure my therapist needs to hear this stuff about me, but I can't go to therapy because I'm too busy running a world of Sims. I'm pretty sure this is how God feels.

Gotta run, I think my whore Sim is done with her neighbor Owen and the fireman Michael is probably off work by now.....

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This Post HAD a Point but Since You KNOW How My Mind Works it Got Lost. It's Mainly about Decorating Though. I Think.

I received a large black cubby wall shelf for Christmas from my mother-in-law and I love it.  

This shelf.  $75 and free shipping on Amazon.  And it's GORGEOUS.  But you need to get your own baskets.  Damn  false advertising.

My family room has a HUGE wall opposite of a large bay window, and after almost six years in my house I figured it was high time to start filling that giant, bare wall.

One thing I've been obsessed with lately is vintage.  I attribute this to my new-found love of American Horror Story and Constance's kitchen on the show.  I want a 1950s inspired kitchen. Like this one:

Can't you just SEE yourself smoking a cig with Constance here?

If you don't already watch American Horror Story, what the hell is wrong with you?  It's like I don't even know you anymore.

So for my shelf, I wanted "vintage" pieces since my family room is open from my kitchen and I WILL have a Constance kitchen one day.  By the way, my "definition" of "vintage" is "super duper old, like grandma old, but not smelly or moldy.  Or too expensive."

I went on a hunt at my local thrift store for vintage books to stack on my shelf.  I had some luck, and who can beat 20 cent hardcover books?

While I was browsing for old books, I discovered this little gem:

Oh fuck yes, you read that right.  The Paranoid's Pocket Guide.  Even my 8 year old was all, MOM.  You MUST. BUY. THIS.
And because I'm a good mom, and a paranoid, and a book nerd, I bought it.
And now I'm having all sorts of twisted fun reading about things I never worried about before but now do.  It's like a hypochondriac's nightmare but I just can't help my damn self.  I must obsess over random things that will likely never happen.
Next on my reading list?

Because my mental illnesses need more friends at the party.

Also for my shelf I found some other "vintage" and "farm-housey" type things and I love how it all looks together.  Do you like my official decorating terms?  I'm practically a famous decorator and I'd say who, if I actually knew of any famous decorators.
EVERYTHING I bought was on clearance, and nothing was over $7.00 a piece.

Want a picture of my new stacked and decorated cubby wall shelf?
Family photo blocked out.

What do you think??  Be honest.  Suggestions?  Comments?

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My Insomnia, Hypochondria, Paranoia, and General Bitterness Combined to Make it a LOOONG Night.

Last night as I lay wide awake and listened to the Hubby SNORE like a motherfucker, I realized that my neck was a little sore.  I've started working out again and developed an awesomely fun case of plantar fasciitis (which is Latin for "asshole foot stabby pain") so I've been going to a "wellness center" for ART (which is acronym for "I'm going to massage and poke you til you bruise" aka "active release therapy".)

Anyway, I'm going off track here a moment to tell you I'm terrified of chiropractors because I firmly believe that neck and back bones should not make those God-awful cracking noises when they break adjust you. So I've never gone to one.  Ever.  And I don't regret it.


Back on topic.  At my ART appointment on Saturday, the doctor got a wild hair up his ass and decided to "adjust" me without prior notice or permission.  Kind of like when the mood strikes the Hubby to fondle me without prior notice or permission, but less fun.

He popped my back, which felt surprisingly good.  He cracked up my hips, which was lovely.  Cracking those two areas didn't scare the shit out of me.  I was pleased.

THEN, then you guys.... he started massaging my shoulders and neck.  I'm a massage whore.  I will do just about anything for a massage.  I went in with a stabby foot arch and was getting a neck massage and oh holy Mother of the Baby Jesus I was in love with ART and the doctor.
UNTIL..

That motherfucker held my head in his hands and cracked my neck.
He cracked up my neck vertebrae.
Panic attack much?
He snuck in a neck crack and even though it didn't hurt, it scared the hell out of me.

So last night as I lay there feeling my sore neck and listening to the Hubby snore like a freight train, my hypochondria went running wild.
CLEARLY something is broken in my neck...
OR a vein/vessel/artery was torn and I'm hemorrhaging into my brain....
OR the neck cracking let loose a clot that had traveled from my leg and has now entered my brain.....
OR my spinal cord is being squeezed by my vertebrae and I'll be paralyzed by dawn.

All this paranoia combined with my hatred of all things snoring Hubby ruined my night of sleep.
I sent him to Bossy Girl's room since she was sleeping in Wee One's room.
His snoring wasn't to be stopped by mere drywall, however.

I lay awake until about 2:00 a.m. plotting his punishment along with my funeral.

I'm tired today you guys.

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Look out Hallmark.

Well, today in a random fit of boredom I decided to browse around someecards.com.
These cards never fail to crack me up.
And then I discovered I can make my own e-cards on the site, and I killed an entire half hour.
These likely aren't even funny, but here, take a look.
Humor me.

The greeting card business just HAS to be looking for someone like me......

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Aging Can Suck It.

Today I wrote down my new age for the first time.
34
Thirty four years old.
There.  I did it two more times.  It still stings a bit.

Then, when I looked in the mirror tonight and forced myself to smile at myself, I really noticed the crow's feet. Like, REALLY noticed them.
I knew they were there, and I've been buying every kind of moisturizer on the planet to combat them.  But they were so so obvious tonight for some reason.  Ugh.

I have a love hate relationship with aging, particularly my aging.


We're currently in the hate cycle y'all.

Tonight's rendering courtesy of MemeBase and their Rage Comic Builder.  Check it out.  

Just trying something new with my tired old renderings.

Spicing things up a bit my friends.

I want to keep our relationship hot and fresh.

Kinky too. 

Please?

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