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.

I had to go to the courthouse to pick up a work verification notice for jury duty. On my way out, I saw the defense attorney who represented a drunk driver who killed 4 people I cared for very much in a brutal car accident.
When I saw her, all of the anger and hatred I had for her during the trial instantly came back and I wanted to hit her.
I went to the trial every day that I could and during that time, I began to loathe this woman because she played so dirty. She knew he was guilty, she knew he had been arrested for drunk driving before, she knew he ran the stop sign in his big rig, taking out 4 innocent lives (2 of them children, 9 years old) she knew he was drunk and on drugs, she knew he tried to unhitch the trailor and leave it there with the car stuck underneath it, 4 people dead, 2 fighting for their lives. She knew it, but she tried to get him off anyway. She tried to get him off on technicalities, on this on that… I wondered back then, “How does this woman sleep at night?”
She was one of the rudest women I’ve ever known in my life. So insensitive to the families. Ugh.
At one point during the trail, she told the judge he would plead guilty if they lessened the charges from murder to vehicular manslaughter, but the prosecutors refused to lessen the charges, so they went ahead on with the “not guilty” plea.
Thankfully, the jury found him guilty on all charges.
I shudder to think what would have happened if verdict was not guilty. That man would have been set free, he would have walked away from there, maybe gotten drunk again and maybe killed more innocent people. And it would have been possible thanks to her.

I am a highly emotional woman. I also am very passionate.
This almost always gets me into trouble.
Trouble because I react first, think later.
I get all emotional and passionate when something happens, then I get riled up, I react, I get angry, sad, upset, furious, or whatever emotion is appropriate for the situation.
I am a total “over reactor”.
Then, after I calm down, after I think about things, I get all pissed at myself for the way I handled it and usually have to apologize to at least 6 people.
I have always been the “Apologizer”.
In every relationship I have, I am always the one having to say sorry for something. And even when I shouldn’t be the one saying sorry, I say it because I want to make peace.
That kind of pisses me off. But I’m not going to get all “emotional” about it right now.
No, instead, I’m going to go watch the Laker game and take out my passion on my furniture if they lose.

I just washed my husbands wallet for about the 4th time in our 13 year marriage. Of course, he’s all pissed off.
He says it’s MY responsibility to check HIS pockets before I put HIS clothes in the washer.
I say it’s HIS responsibilty that HE empty HIS pockets before he puts HIS jeans in the hamper.
He disagrees.
I say he’s dead wrong.
He’s a grown man, he should empty his pockets.
I need you people to take a side. Is it my fault his wallet got washed because I didn’t check his pockets or is it his fault for not being responsible and emptying his pockets?
I have a feeling the men are going to back him up on this one and the women will be all “DAMN RIGHT IT’S HIS FAULT!”

My neighbor just called the city to complain about our little construction problem.
When the man answered, she said “I’d like to talk to the genius who thought it would be a good idea to block the only two entrances into our neighborhood.”
His reponse?
“Is this y?”
Does that mean I have a “reputation”?

Dear dead potato who lies dead on my bathroom floor.
I wonder if you know how I am freaking out wondering how you got into my bathroom.
Do you know that every time I walk by the bathroom, I get chills and dry heaves just thinking about how I’m going to pick you up and throw you away?
I wonder if you know how terrified I am that you exist. Even if you are dead because I took a giant wicker container full of magazines and threw it on top of you, you still haunt me.
Do you know that I will have nightmares now, and not be able to sleep because I have no idea how the hell you got into my bathroom?
Do you even realize the mental anguish you have caused this psychotic pregnant woman?
Oh, dead potato bug why did you have to come into my bathroom and into my life?
Oh, dead potato bug how I hate thee and thine timing. My husband is out of town and I don’t care if you’re DEAD. I am not picking you up and throwing you away. I can’t do it!!!
Fuck you, dead potato bug.

Tonight, I took my competitiveness to an all time low.
So, Ethan was chillin in the toy room, and I went in to check on him. He asked me to take down his Tonka backhoe that he hasn’t played with since last Christmas. I took it down, sat on the floor and watched him pick up crayons with it.
All of a sudden, I had the greatest idea ever!
“Ethan! Stay right here, I’ve got an idea!”
I went running down the hall into the kitchen, opened up the cabinet and grabbed a bag of pinto beans. I ran back to the toy room and shouted “LOOK! You can pick up beans!”
I dumped the bag of beans on the floor, and realized he would need something to dump the beans into, so I ran back to the kitchen to grab a Tupperware container.
He was set.
Scooping beans with a motorized back ho is so much fun!
I wanted to try it so bad, but he was having too much fun. I ran and got Tony and told him to watch Ethan and how “good he was at picking up beans.”
This was a very proud moment for Tony, he used to be a backhoe operator and to see his son scooping up piles of beans with such skill was one of those moments a father dreams about.
Anyway… I had the second best idea ever!
“Let’s have a competition! We each get one turn to scoop up beans and dump them, whoever picks up the most beans wins!”
Ethan got all excited, but not nearly as excited as I was, because I was going to beat Tony at what he did best! (Operating a backhoe!) Only it wasn’t dirt we were picking up, it was beans. Beans off of the carpet.
Ethan went first.

He got 78.
Tony went second. He got 148.
I went next.
You should have seen MY pile of beans. I was sure I had won.
140, 141, 142, 143, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh SHIT. 144!
“Let’s play again!”
“NO MOMMY! I WAS PICKING UP BEANS FIRST, NOW YOU AND DADDY ARE TAKING OVER!!!!”
“One more time, please, I want to beat daddy!”
“NO!!!”
Of course, Tony couldn’t stop laughing and teasing me. “You’re so competitive, think about it, you’re mad because you DIDN’T PICK UP AS MANY BEANS AS I DID!”

Jerk.