My friends and family are always telling me that I talk too much. My husband tells me I talk too much. Today, Melly told me I talk too much, but not in the way most people do, which is “OK! Shutup.” She said very gently, while making a motion with her hands, “yap, yap, yap, yap… and you say Andrew talks too much, he gets it from you!”
I didn’t get too dramatic in my reaction. I simply said “Fine, I won’t talk anymore”, held back the tears and didn’t answer any of her questions for 5 minutes.
I think I’m over it now, I’m talking again.

I wonder what it means when you continue to sit on the toilet (even though you have finished your “business”) until you are finished singing “Silent Night” in it’s entirety, in the month of February.

I hate when people start off a sentence with “I don’t mean to be rude, but“….

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I decided that I’m going to go ahead and give myself another pedicure.
Even though the last time I did it, I cut my feet to shreds and it took me days to heal. Even though I almost needed a blood transfusion from the blood loss that occured when I cut a chunk of my big toe, my middle toe and the little toe off, on both feet, and I had scabs for weeks. Even though Tony made me swear I would have a professional do it next time. Even though my foot spa is up in the rafters in the garage and I have to GET ON A LADDER to get it…
Wish me luck.

Surely, I can not be the only one who feels totally comfortable and believes it is completely acceptable to go to Starbucks in their pajamas?

I have just spent the last 5 1/2 hours with 60 or more annoying, screaming, crying, smelly, rude, loud, FIRST GRADERS. One of those hours were on a bus.
This is not the way a pregnant, very sick woman should spend her day, I do not recommend it. At all.
I am now on my way to see my doctor. I need him to check my blood pressure as I am completely convinced it is dangerously high.
And I totally blame the FIRST GRADERS!!!

You probably think your job is so important. You probably think what you do really matters.
Let me tell you something… My job changes people’s lives.
Take a look at what I accomplished yesterday in my 3 hours of hard labor and then try to convince me that what you do is really that important…

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I found my wall calender from 1989, the year I graduated. I haven’t been able to throw it away all these years because it is the year I fell in love with the man I am married to.
May 7, 1989- “Tony told me he loves me! HE LOVES ME!”
Nov 24, 1989- “Tony kissed me. Our first kiss.”
Jan 11, 1990- “TONY ASKED ME TO MARRY HIM!”
Jan 13, 1990- MFT!!!!
“MFT” that’s all it says.
Any guesses what those initials stand for? heh.
And my God, the man tells me he loves me in May and doesn’t kiss me until NOVEMBER? What the hell was his problem? What the hell was my problem? Could it be because I was a pastors kid? Who knows.
That’s some messed up love affair.

I’ve noticed several varieties of virtual hugs and I’m left to wonder, does one hug mean more than the other?
For instance, is *HUGS* the same thing as *big hugs*? I would think so because even though it doesn’t say “big”, it’s capitolized, and capitols are big.
Is the number of (((((((((()))))))))) one leaves before and after the hugs significant in how big the hug actually is?
Example. (((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((hugs)))))))))))))))))))))))))) = The kind of hug where one hangs on forever, nearly squeezing the life out of you, where as ((hugs)) is just one of those friendly “hey, how you doin” kind of hugs.
Yes? No?
Does creativity in ones virtual hug count for anything?
You know what I’m talking about, like does (*(*(*(*(*HUGS*)*)*)*)*) totally outshine just your average *hugs*?
I wonder if there’s a *hug* for that “perverted” type of hug. You know, the one where a guy hugs up on you and squeezes you so tight, you can feel your tits smashing up against his chest and then, instantly, you feel “it.” Maybe there is and I imagine it looks a little something like this…
(!(!(!(!(!!!!!!!!!*HUG-A HUG-A*!!!!!!!!!)!)!)!)!)
Oh, the virtual hug. What would some of you have to say without it?

If one more person tells me that I look like (the late, murdered, very dead) Laci Peterson.
I look nothing like her and everywhere I go, even the grocery store, people walk up to me and tell me “you look just like Laci Peterson”.
It freaked me out when they were looking for her and it freaks me the FUCK out now that she’s dead.