randomly mental

There is no such thing as comfortable heels. I don’t care what anyone says. We are not supposed to walk on the balls of our feet. I don’t know what I was thinking.

Is it possible to stunt your children’s growth when exposed to prolonged fart stench?

Has my 11 year old daughter been irrevocably scarred by watching Me, Myself & Irene? Some of those scenes have burned themselves into my brain and I may never recover. Funny as all hell, but the image some guy with a chicken stuffed up his ass may be way too much for her young psyche. Throughout the movie she resembled the Speak No Evil, See No Evil, Hear No Evil monkeys and would spontaneously cover her face with the blanket. At the least she’ll have one more instance of parental fuckupitude to share with a therapist someday. Might as well get her money’s worth.

*I want it on record here that I was the lone dissenter when picking that movie. I said, No, let’s watch Lara Croft, but THEY all said No! This one. It’s all on their heads.

I get this weird stray hair on my belly that gets really long and it got stuck in my zipper this morning and it hurt like crazy when I yanked it out. Is this the onset of advanced age random hair growth? Will stray facial hairs begin popping out unexpectedly, like in the middle of a meeting and then people will be staring at the odd wiry growth sprouting from my forehead?

The speakers on my office computer make everything sound like it’s bouncing off metal walls. It’s really fucking annoying.

Just because I don’t call someone back, does not mean I’m being a bitch. It just means I am BUSY. There is shit to do. I’ll get to you. At some point. Maybe. Or not. Bitch might not be that far off the mark after all.

My daughter had to do a biography report for school that included making a puppet representing the person she chose. She opted to go full out and make a polymer clay puppet with a movable mouth, arms and legs, almost like a ventriloquist dummy. Some days I am equally gut-busting proud and intimidated by her level of artistic creativity. I’m not certain Drew Barrymore would appreciate the likeness but it’s the interpretations that counts, isn’t it?

When we got home from vacation Ace was suddenly as tall as I am. My days of using the height intimidation factor to get him to do his chores just evaporated. I’ll have to settle for verbal domination. And Xbox time leverage. Ah, the power of holding Xbox time hostage. It is a glorious thing, plus I outweigh him.

I’m listening to this new Audio book titled Name of the Wind. The words are music and magic all rolled into one. If you like epic fantasy crafted in such a way that you feel you are there, in the story, then go read or listen. I kind’ve want to smother the author, Patrick Rothfuss, with sloppy tongue kisses in gratitude, but it’s probable he’d have me arrested. And how would that look?

After years of feeling all smug and superior about not getting sucked into the American Idol whirlpool, SuperHubby and I have succumbed to its inexorable grasp. Even as we sit and dissect the episode in front of us, part of my brain is bitch slapping me for being a tool.

I have a bazillion great pictures of New Orleans (Men in Dresses, plastic boobs, drunk Saints fans) and Mayan Ruins (ancient buildings, cenotes, feet nibbling fish) that I want to plaster all over these pages but can’t get my procrastinating ass in gear to sit and just do it.

Our friendly Home Depot deliverymen delivered our shiny new GE Profile Dryer and I can’t wait to load it up with wet clothes. So I can have clean underwear. Going commando at work just feels weird sometimes.