I've spent the day on a House marathon, because I was too sick to go to work today. Running fevers, breaking them, getting chills, repeat. Oh, and then there is the excruciating muscle pain. Fortunately Dr House was there for me.


Random Thoughts

1. My legs hurt.

2. Tweezing your eyebrows is not for the faint of heart. Remind me to say thank you to the girl who first did this to me, beginning what is a lifetime of painful plucking and sneezing. You know who you are. Bitch.

3. "What are those?" "Painkillers." "Oh, for your leg." "Noooo, because they are yummy."

4. Pain is there for a reason.

5. I don't care what anyone tells you, allergies are contagious.

6. Geneticists are nosy sons of bitches.

7. Epopsy. Translation: Endoscopy.


Best Video Clip. EVER.

If that doesn't make you at the very least smile, then I suggest you go and get an enema of sunshine and flowers, because something has definitely crawled up your ass and died.

Cats, Heroin, and Bad Ass TVs

As I sit here an reminisce over the last two days, I am more than just a little exhausted, and even more perplexed as to where I should begin. Not that I've done a lot, I just feel like a lot has happened to me. Does that make sense? You ever feel like all you were doing was sitting around and every person that walked by you poked you in the ear with their slimy wet fingers? Yeah, me too.
I Went to the Vet and All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt
So demon kitty went to the vet on Wednesday and was neutered and declawed (which I talk a bit about here, please keep up people), and he had to stay overnight so I picked up him Thursday morning. I'm not sure what I was expecting after his little surgeries. Perhaps mangled little paws (which he deserved) with little stitches poking out everywhere like a surgically induced Chia Pet and dried blood. But it wasn't like that at all. I went in, told the lady at the desk that I was in for my cat, and the vet tech came out and started talking to me about the procedure, how it went well, and how he's not feeling any pain due to the patch on his chest that is administering pain medication to him constantly. Alright, sounds good. Then comes the trick question: Do you have any small children at him? Why yes, yes I do. And in my mind I'm thinking, here comes the part where he tells me not to let the small children beat on the cat, swing him around by the tail, sit on him until he meows what sounds like his last meow, you know the normal stuff small children do to a small kitty until he recovers in x amount of days. What the vet tech actually says is Don't let your small children pull the pain killer patch off the cat and put it in their mouths, because if they do, they will receive a lethal dose of heroin. Just like that. The same as a stranger walking down the sidewalk would say, Great day isn't it? As if heroin coated patches of pain killer are a normal part of life, and everyone keeps one in their closet at home. WTF?!?!? HEROIN? Seriously? I guess my stunned silence was mistaken as acceptance in what he said, because then he proceeds to go into how Natra isn't feeling any pain, doesn't realize he's just had surgery, that he's fine, and that I'll need to limit his activities because due to the HEROIN he doesn't realize his limitations, and in fact, he'll be a little goofy for a few days. That's when I break in with, whoa cowboy, go back to the heroin part. Do what now? There's a patch. On my cat's chest. That's administering heroin? Is this some sort of sick kitty drug ring that no one told me about? After I remove his patch, am I going to need to enroll him into a rehab for his withdrawals? I don't know about you, but if I had heroin being constantly fed into my blood stream for five straight days, and then suddenly you take that away from me, there's going to be freaking hell to pay. My cat is psycho already. That's gonna be fun. But no, he reassures me, no withdrawals. So alright, fine. Moving on. How am I supposed to keep a cat who is inherently PSYCHO calm while he's on heroin? I can't even keep him calm when he's in a normal state of mind, much less while he thinks he's floating on clouds of cat nip and cotton balls. Just try he tells me. Alrighty then. This is going to be fun. So I turn around and realize that Mr. Natra is behind me in his carrier on a bench. He hasn't meowed or anything, I didn't even see the woman who brought him out until she left, and didn't realize she had brought him out. I take a peek in on him to see if he's even alive, and I can see his chest moving on the other side of a gauze wrap they have cut to look like a feline wife-beater. Great, he's already dressing like the other crack heads at the methadone clinic. He's laying on his back with his paws up in the air purring. He cocks his head to the side, and I can no longer see the beautiful blue eyes in which came his name, only pupil as he opens one eye at me. I can read his thoughts, and they are simple. Make sure you get a prescription for this shit. Then he closes his eye again and goes back to purring. On a side note, once he's done with his heroin patch, I'll open the bidding at $20.* :)

*in case this blog is being read by any member of the DEA, that was a joke. don't show up at my door or I'll sic my cracked out cat on you*
The Little TV That Could
After the cat debacle, I get home to realize that my TV, my beautiful TV has arrived! I pull it out of it's box, and lovingly lay it in my bed so that I may nap with it. Best 27 inches I've ever had. Anyway, after putting it together and realizing that in no way is it a good idea to leave this beautiful TV on any surface in case the crazy cat or The Smoodge should notice it's glowing glory and insist on either attacking it or touching it. Soooo, I pick up a wall mount for it, pick out the perfect place on my wall, and proceed to act like I have a freaking clue what I'm doing. Oh, I've got all the tools. And then some. I've got my level, I've got my stud finder, I've got my tape measure, I've got my socket set, my power drill, I'm set. What I don't have is an extra set of hands because that freaking mount weighs about the same as a washing machine. So I'm standing in the corner of my apartment, with my mount in one hand, my socket in the other, and the screw in my mouth (uhhh...), trying to figure out how the hell the math on this is going to work. And then I have it! I can balance the arm of the mount on my head while I use one hand to hold the screw in place and the other hand to turn the socket! And you may laugh, but it worked. And here is the result:

Isn't it beautiful? It's the one in the corner, not the one on the entertainment center. Hopefully that monstrosity (the entertainment center) will be gone by the end of this weekend, and I'll be able to complete my diabolical scheme to have a living room where there is nothing on the floor but the sofa. Mwaaah haaa haa ha!
Why I Shouldn't Be Surprised to Get a Visit from CPS
I go to pick up The Smoodge this afternoon, and get accosted as soon as I walk into the toddler room by the teacher. Oh, um, Ms. Bell, I have a couple of accident reports for you to sign. The Smoodge fell down twice, two completely unrelated incidents, but did receive some injuries. And when I glance over at my little cherub, I see this:

The exact middle of her top lip looks like she is a direct descendant of Steven Tyler and Angelina Jolie, and the crease on the left side of her face (her left, your right) looks like she got into a vicious fight with a razor blade and lost. Great. So much for pictures this weekend.
And The Moral of the Story Is
Granted, there were other things that have happened to me in the last few days. Some of which I'm not ready to talk about, others in which I am too tired and feel as though you might need a potty break, so I'll save those for another day.

Once Upon a Time....

There was a girl who died of boredom at work. the end.


My Hopes and Dreams

One day I shall make a bag of chips that will last until one is finished with their jar of salsa. And it shall revolutionary and everyone will be in awe of my genius. And they will want to be me and I will say no, because there is only one me, and I am it. Once that task is accomplished, I shall work diligently on the shampoo and conditioner issue of the same strain.



By the way Fart Sniffer, I can totally see you when you leave here at 2:30pm, and I know you didn't get to work at 5:30am, so can we say SKIPPING OUT WAY EARLY? You and your FJ Cruiser...

Stood Up

I had an appointment today. A stressful, stupid appointment. It was at 1:00pm. And so my entire morning was shot being nervous about said stressful, stupid appointment. Finally, 12:15pm rolled around, and I headed to the appointment. I get to the place, and it's the wrong place. Go to the next door, they say. Fine. Put a sign up is all I'm saying. So I go to the RIGHT place, which is in the same place as the first place, just a different door. Anyway, I say, I'm here to see ******. They say, who? Ugh. I'M. HERE. TO. SEE. ********. Like if I say it slower and louder the SASH escapee behind the bulletproof glass will understand me better. Apparently it works, because he pulls out his big blue binder of phone numbers, looks up the name, and calls. No answer. Mr. MENSA (no, not the spanish word, the IQ thingie) looks at me and lets me know he's not at his desk, but he'll get a hold of him. Alright. Let me just go sit and waste time because, well, not like I have a job to do. Not like this is taking time out of my already screwed up day to sit around while you search for a guy that I personally think should have been waiting on ME to show. But whatever. So I sit. Then I sit for a bit more. Then, I pull out a piece of gum and chew it because for some reason my stomach has decided that being hungry isn't enough, we must alert the entire building, and me with my rationale think that chewing gum will shut it up. Not even a little bit (for future reference). So then I start going through movie lines from Dogma. "THE GIRL IN THE PJ's just serve your purpose!" That gets me everytime. Especially because you have to say it in a british accent, that's what adds flavor. Forty five minutes later, and well into humming the soundtrack to Evita(I switched movies), I hear, Ms. Bell? Ms. Bell? ********* is on the phone for you. WTF? Why is he calling? This is not an over the phone type of thing, otherwise I could have done that from my car in the parking lot of work and not wasted 20 minutes driving to what I can only assume is the outskirts of hell, or at the very least the inner core of the ghetto. Anyway, so I take the phone from the girl at the counter (the guy at the counter I guess had to go take his meds), and say hello. Turns out ********* had me down for tomorrow at 1:00pm. That is completely his mistake. And I let him know this because tomorrow I have a DIFFERENT appointment at 1:00pm, and it's been set for awhile. And I wouldn't have scheduled it for then because as good as I am, I'm not that good. To sum up the conversation that would never end after a rousing game of, no you screwed up, no you screwed up, no YOU, no YOU, my appointment has been reset for tomorrow morning at 9:00am. Because ********* screwed up, now I gotta take a damn day off. Great. THANKS, JACKASS!


Waiting, waiting...

I should be doing something productive right now, like, you know, work? However, because the Stupid Calculator* can't do their damn job, I can't do mine. An exact quote from this morning:
me- "Hey Stupid Calculator*, did you run the labor report yet?"
SC*- "I didn't know I was supposed to."
Now, I've been doing this job for...oh..let's say four months or so? And EVERY single week, the Stupid Calculator runs the labor report. In fact, they are the only one who can. And prior to me, my brilliant predecessor also had SC run the labor report. So that makes at least 1 year of the SC running the report. No one else, just them. NOBODY. So when they say this to me, I stand there, dumbfounded, utterly at a loss for words. All I can think is, "If it weren't for my horse, I would have never finished college." So I just turn and walk away.
Welcome to my own personal hell....

*the names have been changed to protect those who are entirely too stupid


Not Panicking

I just paid out $1072.26 in bills and I am not freaking out. Nope, not freaking out at all. Not even a little bit.....nope. Not me. This is me, NOT freaking out.


I'm not sure what the Easter equivalent to Bah Humbug is, but whatever it is, insert here.

On a happier note, The Smoodge in all her Easter glory:


Plans Change

Sometimes in life I've learned that no matter how much you want something, it's just not the time for it. It doesn't matter what you believe in, sometimes your higher up kicks your ass in the opposite direction. I personally believe in God, and He's given me enough clues that now is not the time for my Honda Element...that I love so much...that I REALLY REALLY REALLY want. And no, this will not be a diatribe on religion.
First, came the experience with CarMax yesterday. I went solely to test drive one I knew they had on their lot. While I was there, I figured I'd get my car appraised, and see what kind of financing I could get on my own. See my last car is financed with a co-signer, and I don't believe much in credit, so my car is really the only thing that I have debt on. No credit cards, no loans (as of a month ago, but that was a student loan, so it doesn't REALLY count), no medical I thought. But we'll get to that in a moment. So I get my car appraised, and they want to give me a little less than I think I could get on the outside, but whatever, because I'm not buying through CarMax. I'll take that as subtle sign number one (in hindsight). Anyway, I drive the dirty Element they had on the lot that they wanted to sell for 4K more than the one that I LOVE, but whatever, same feel, same drive. It was awesome. Roomy, comfortable. I guess you could say that the drive cancelled out the subtle sign of why I shouldn't get a car right now. Anyway, we went in to run my credit for the financing, and after the usual bull shit, in came the results. The only place that would finance me wanted to make it at 15.27% interest rate. Eat my ass. I am currently paying HALF that in interest, so why on freaking earth would I fall for it. What made me REALLY angry about that was that where I am currently financed through didn't offer anything. So I left CarMax and called Wells Fargo and asked them WTF? You don't want to take my money from me for an additional 4 years? No, no they do not. "Sorry, your credit isn't high enough to qualify to speak to a loan officer." So I called the local branch and asked to speak to a loan officer. Ain't no long distance bouncer gonna get rid of me that easy. Turns out, my credit score is shit. And why is that you ask? Because I apparently have about 11 lines of BAD MEDICAL CREDIT on my credit report. WTF? Seriously? How on earth did that happen? From ME? The person who doesn't go to the doctor unless either I am forced to by paramedics or unless something begins to smell slightly of almonds. The person who with the few medical bills I DID have from the time that I was forced to go by paramedics (forced is sort of strong word since I was unconscious, but hey), those have been paid. So what am I left with? Not sure, but I have a few theories. It's entirely possible that I have medical bills left from The Smoodge's delivery that I have no received. But you know who would be receiving them? The Sperm Donor. Because he is who was the policy holder. And it would not surprise me if those bills were quickly being put in a round file for quick delivery to the dumpster. The other option is that The Smoodge's medical bills are affecting my credit, but I've been paying on those, and they shouldn't be showing on my credit. Either way I need to find out what's going on and take some serious action. So if you are keeping track, sign number two is credit. So I go home, thoroughly exhausted by the day's ordeal, and head to bed. I wake up this morning, open the door to my bedroom, only to walk upon this:

This is what that fucking cat did to the carpet. You can't see it, but there is about an inch of floor that is no longer carpeted. You know where that carpet is? Yup, you got it. Haphazardly scattered around the area that it used to be one piece of carpet. Because the damn cat is crazy. I personally think that at this point he wants to live in a dumpster. And that is where he is headed should this kind of crap happens again. But I digress. After hurling frantic obscenities towards the culprit, scraping together my poor scraps of carpet and throwing them away, I phoned the vet. Because the only way to truly punish that little shit heel is to cut his damn balls off. And since the vet told me that the nut chopping won't stop his apparently playful method of clawing every inch of my apartment to shreds suited for a RAT CAGE, his claws will go too. I know I know, it's awful and mean and did you know that declawing is the equivalent of severing your fingers at the first knuckle? Yes, yes I'm fully aware, and I will take nothing but pleasure in getting to watch him scamper around in first knuck-less play. And let that be a warning to you all. If you intend on coming over to my apartment and ripping up the furniture and flooring, I will sever your fingers at the knuckle. Don't say you weren't warned. ANYWAY, with the neutering and the declawing, it's going to set me back about $450. Sign number 3. Because spending $450 really takes a chunk out of the down payment for the car that I love. To sum up, God doesn't want me buying a car right now.
On a lighter note, tomorrow is Easter. Technically, today is Easter. I was going to go to the sunrise service at my church, but it's out in BFE, and besides, I hate driving back into that town. Especially when the fuzz get such pleasure out of following me around while I'm there. And why should I allow them that joy? So instead, The Smoodge and I may go see Horton Hears a Who, and yes J, we'll see the $1 extra version if available, and possibly go get a flat panel TV. Because at the very least, if I don't get The Car That I Love, then I should at least get to hang something cool on my wall. :)

7 Things I Hate

1. Wells Fargo
2. Car salesmen who don't get that not gonna happen today means not gonna happen today
3. People who remove stuff from craigslist simply because they are bored
4. Sitting at home alone on a Friday night
5. Wells Fargo
6. That there are 900 miles between here and Kansas City
7. The craigslist thing again.


Throw ya hands in the Ai-yair...

...and wave 'em like ya just don't ca-yare! The Smoodge showing off her new walking skills :)

Ah Friday. The beginning of the weekend. The Smoodge knows how to bring it in in style. Everybody say HEY, HO, HEY, HO....Hip Hop HorrAY, HO.....


I Can't Believe It's Not Butter!

But really what I can't believe is that I ALMOST forgot to post tonight. Sheesh...only a few days in and I'm already slacking. You want to know why? Go head, ask me. Seriously. Ask me why. Ask me why I haven't posted yet today....
BECAUSE I've been looking at this!!! I want it sooooooo bad. Like a lot. Don't bid on it, don't you dare. Because tomorrow I'm going to call and see what kind of deal I can make with him in regards to my current ride. Because there is a pretty good chance that if we can make it work, then I'm going to load up the baby and a friend and drive to Kansas City and get it. And I swear that if someone bids on it before then, I will hunt them down and shove dull pencils into their eye sockets. Seriously. Don't test me.
So yeah, I'm on a 'I'm gonna buy a new car' high! I keep looking at the pictures of it, all the pretty, pretty pictures. Keep your fingers crossed for me!
As for my day, it's almost laughable. The insanity that surrounds me is surreal. I almost feel that in order to be equipped to handle my days I should be issued shoes without laces and a pudding cup. I don't have time to discuss it all tonight. Besides that, I can't stop looking at that car!



It's amazing how boring you realize your life is when you force yourself to write about it everyday. I've been sitting here for the last ten minutes wondering what to write about, and sadly, I've come up with nothing. Nada. Zilch.

It rained dirt here today. That was pretty cool.

I squished a spider with my windshield wipers. I thought it was on the inside, but wasn't sure, so I turned on my wipers, and SQUISH. Left a red streak. Bet he never saw it coming.

Okay, I think I've tortured you enough with my lack of conversation. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to pick up the pace. :)


Sucking My Will to Live

If you know me, then you know this is a phrase I use a lot. And what a great phrase. There are a few like that in the world. Sucking my will to live, like a monkey in a knife fight, the list goes on. So back to the sucking my will to live. Yeah, ex's are good like that. Except now it's gotten to the point where I want to ask the state of Texas why someone who qualifies for SASH should be allowed free reign with my daughter. Seriously. And that's all I have to say about that.
St. Patrick's Day today, whoo-hoo! This date shall forever be engrained into my head, for one simple reason.... a BOY CALLED ME! Well, not really a boy, a full grown man, and NO, he was NOT looking for my over due bills. BUT STILL! Here's the scoop: I had a date planned with a nice man I had met through Match. We had been chatting, things were moving nicely e-long (get it, e-long, like along, but online? get it?). So we made plans to meet up one night. I got all flustered, called my good friend A.Shine to babysit, and awaiting the phone call. And did it come? Nope, not even a little bit. Now, I haven't dated in awhile, and that's fine, I hear you aren't supposed to when you are married (not if you ask my ex, but hey). Here was the question I thought at the time: I thought you weren't supposed to get blown off until AFTER the first date? I got not a phone call, not an email, not even a TEXT for god's sake. So that was just sort of like, hey, way to suck my will to date with a big fat straw. But I moved on, because seriously, how attached could I possibly be to a guy who I had only ever emailed? Life was good, things were moving along. Then out of freaking nowhere, my phone rings while I'm trying to upload some videos of The Smoodge walking. I look, unknown number. WTF? It is 9:30 at night, entirely too late for the bill collectors and solicitors. So I answer, thinking the highlight of my evening might be jacking with someone who had dialed the wrong number. And GUESS WHO IT WAS? The GUY! The guy that disappeared! Turns out, his grandfather really sick, and he had to put him in the hospital. If you go here, you can read about where my friend A.Shine (that's her street name, I just gave it to her) feels stupid for making an assumption about a person's actions. She is much funnier in her description, and her situation was far more interesting than mine, so read hers, have a good laugh, then come back and understand how dumb I felt for thinking this guy was a giant ass-tard for blowing me off like that. Go ahead, read it, I'll wait.....
Back? Okay good. So anyway, he calls, we talk, he seems like a fairly interesting guy. So now I gotta find a night I can go out. But if he doesn't show....well, I think you all know what list he'll be making it onto. I've already told him not to give me free reign when we do go out, because holy cow, I just might not come back. I already feel bad about the one night I was taken out for my birthday and got thoroughly sloshed for no good reason other than, I was baby free and at a bar. Don't worry my fans, both of you will be updated as to how the date goes :)
What else, what else... I think that's about it. Partially because I've been drinking this fantastic riesling for the last 2 hours...basically since that Boy called me and I needed something to calm my nerves. I seriously need to go to bed because tomorrow starts the part of my week that makes you want to jab a dull pencil in your eye.

Eat Your Heart Out, St. Paddy!

Tell me she's not the cutest thing EVER. Seriously.

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Laundry, laundry, and... guessed it, more friggin' laundry. I'm not sure where it all comes from. I think the neighbors are sneaking in their laundry. A friend of mine recently said she couldn't imagine doing laundry for more than two people, and I feel her pain. I will say this though. It's a lot easier to do laundry for two GROWN people, than for one grown up and one little person. Man those tiny little socks are hard to match.
The Smoodge needs to sleep in her own bed. I know, I know, you're thinking, what on earth is a 16 month old doing NOT sleeping in her own bed. That's an issue for later. Regardless, for today's intents and purposes, just know that she sleeps with me. Anyway, that needs to stop. She has gotten big enough that she can crawl out of my bed, and the sneaky little monkey has gotten good enough at it that she can do it without me knowing. Like the time when I woke up at about six in the morning to discover that she was sitting on my night stand playing with my phone. Nice. What was even better about all of that, was when a friend called me later on that morning to ask me if I was okay, because why else would I have called her at 6 in the morning. Apparently The Smoodge was making phone calls. So this morning, I wake up to an empty bed, no sign of Smoodge. Walk out of my bedroom, and it looks like Toys R Us threw up in my living room. And in the midst of this, looking like a little piggy in mud, was The Smoodge. She had her back to me, and when she heard me walk in, she just gave me this little grin. How could I be mad at that? She was so proud of her accomplishment!
Once I had managed to clean up the mess, which, THANKS TO IKEA, was SOOOO easy, we made a trek to Wal-Mart for some much needed necessities. After getting the diet Coke and wine into the cart, I realized I had nothing green for St. Patrick's Day. And as much as I wanted to get those green mardi gras beads with the beer steins and four leaf clovers on them, I did not. Somehow, I get the feeling nobody else at work would have thought they were nearly as funny as I did. And since I'm angling for a raise, it would have been a lot harder to convince the higher ups that I'm responsible with those bad boys hanging from my neck.
Later we went to a friends for some bbq in that quaint little hell hole called New Braunfels. I would probably like the place a whole lot more if I didn't get harassed by their so-called finest every time I drive in. But, thanks to the ex, it's just a wonderful part of my life now. I really have no point in venting about that except to say, GET A LIFE AND STOP FOLLOWING MINE!
Which brings us to the here and now, where the laundry is sucking my will to live. We've come full circle, all in one quaint little blog posting.


I guess I just figured out how to post a picture, so here's The Smoodge, in all her face painted glory!

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First Day of the Rest of My Blog

Everyone else is doing it, why not me? I got the free time, and I got stuff to say, so here I am to say it. If you don't like it, DON'T LOOK AT IT.
My car hates me. I have several theories as to why, one major one being who her co-owner/non-co-owner is, but regardless as to why, she hates me. And yes, she's a she. Anyway, I took her to Kwik Kar today because the A/C has been going out. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. And when the weather is nice, ain't no thang. But yesterday, YESTERDAY, in 95 degree heat and 5 o'clock particularly bad traffic, not so much. The dang car would blow nothing but hot air. If it were just me, I could handle it. I lived for quite a few years with a truck that had no A/C, and I could just roll down the window and I was fine. But with a one year old, nuh-uh. So this morning, I woke up, loaded up The Smoodge (that would be the one year old), and drove to Kwik Kar. Of course, on the drive, the A/C was working fine. Of course. So I told the little asian man at the joint what was going on. Went inside. Sat for a few minutes. Those of you with a toddler knows that the ease in which that is typed is NOT the same as to how it actually happens. And after The Smoodge successfully tore three magazines into unrecognizable paper piles, we got up to head over to the Sonic, which was next door. I let the small asian woman know where we were going, and she insisted we go over to the small asian man and tell him again what's going on. So we do. And he tells me that he can't fix it when there is clearly nothing wrong. Are you KIDDING ME? I'm sorry, but he wasn't in the car with me yesterday, and while nothing might be wrong at that moment, yesterday, something was VERY CLEARLY WRONG. So he lets me know that I will have to bring it back when it's not working, because while it is working, he can't fix it. And that is why my car hates me. Not just because the A/C is schizophrenic, but because the A/C will always work when it's convenient to take it to the shop, and ALWAYS go out when it's not. Let that be a lesson to all of you.
Smoodge got her face painted today for the first time. I was going to post a picture of how adorable she looked, but I am apparently not smart enough to figure that out yet. Of course, the face painting didn't last very long. After her nap she got to enjoy peeling it off and leaving little wax droppings on the floor. You could still see a little bit of the green once she had done that, so it looked like she had a bruise on her cheek. And I'm sure that's what she'll tell CPS...
Then on to Cracker Barrel, where I got to have lunch with my oldest friend. They sure are proud of their meals. This was only the second time I had been to a Cracker Barrel, and I think I was more intrigued by the merchandise than the food. And that is sad.
And now I'm home. Blogging. Like the rookie I am. Oh sure, I've had other blogs, like this one, where I kept track of my pregnancy with The Smoodge. Boy, those sure were different days. And yes, I'm aware I used the same opening line. Get off me. I'm doing this one now for one simply complicated reason: I read about a billion blogs at night once The Smoodge goes to bed and I get frustrated because nobody updates as often as I read them, because nobody has nearly as much free time as I do, and so I thought to myself, Self, blog your own damn self. So I did, and I am, and you are. Or something. We'll see how long I can make a run at it.