So busy.

Sorry that it has been a while since I have updated but I have been finding a lot more things to keep me busy than I thought I would. Plus-the kids are back in school- which has allowed me to schedule in a few more things than I would otherwise. Besides keepin' it real, yo-I have found the time to:

-Find several vans that will work should I find myself looking for accommodations down by the river.

-Sort through all of the hotties from San Quentin on writeaprisoner.com so that I can find myself a man when Tim gets tired of my self-indulgent crap and tells me to hit the road. I think those guys make .33 cents an hour or something, so, that should help.

-Make a countdown calendar that helps me keep track of EXACTLY when the New Kids on the Block release their new album.

-Do a little investigating on Brett Michaels and his upcoming third incarnation of Rock of Love. It's going to take place on a TOUR BUS! I think they should call it Rock of Love 3: Ho's on a Bus.

-Buy a little notebook and keep painstakingly detailed notes on what the neighbors are up to.

-Spend the grocery money on new scrapbook stuff-
ME: "Kids! Look at mommy's fun things!"
THE KIDS: "But mommy, we're hungry!"
ME: "Don't be selfish!" (smack) "I made you ramen noodles yesterday! It's mommy's turn!"
THE KIDS: "Boo hoo hoo"
ME: "Whatever." (smack)


-Drive 44 mph down the highway when I go pick Turner up, just to piss. you. off.

-Make a pro-con list between watching Pam Anderson's new reality show or poking out my eyes with a hot poker.


Sorry, thats all I've got time for now. I REALLY need to finish watching the rest of THS Investigates:Love Behind Bars before Tim gets home and asks me what I did all day.

Helpful Hints

As I gird up my loins (because really, nobody wants to see me with ungirded loins at my age) to go work my final shift at FMN(Forget Me Not), I have been reflecting on my experiences at the store as it was re-opened this week and here at home as I have started to deal with the shift back to a useless member of society. In the last 2 weeks I have learned a few things that I thought I should share. No, not because I am a shameless TMI(to much information) kind of person but because I am a selfless, caring kind of person that is willing to tell you these things in the hope of helping others. While wallowing in JLD(jobless loser depression-keep up with the acronyms people!) I have discovered:

Mainlining Wild Cherry Pepsi does help(albiet temporarily).

If it's on sale, people will do anything to get it.

Randomly cursing at inanimate objects around the house is always a good time and a nice stress reliever to boot.

Cheap frozen pizza is your friend.

It IS possible to play the PS2 until your hands cramp and you almost wet your pants and not feel like you have hit rock bottom.

Your husband will only tolerate so much whining and dirty dish avoiding before you find yourself locked out of the house.

ALL scrapbookers are a little off (yeah, me too).

THIS is why I wish Summer and all of it's attending irritations would crawl in a hole and DIE!

Kids WILL eat peanut butter sandwiches twice a day if you don't shower very frequently and look very very mean.

Also, if it's on sale, it will instantly seem 50 times more desirable than it was before.

Comparing your neighbors to the devil is not going to get you very far; heaven wise.

You CAN listen to Public Enemy with the volume at 75 and not go completely deaf.

After a certain amount of time as a JL, hookers do start to seem more just like creative entrepeneurs-you must remind yourself -THIS IS NOT TRUE!

After gaining all that Pepsi weight, you don't look so good in spandex hot-pants anyway.

There actually are whack-jobs out there that want to spend a mint on a huge die-cut machine and dies. These people should be avoided. They are crazier (and richer) than you.

When someone calls and asks you to be the Neighborhood Watch block leader-I don't care how much Coke you have had-just say NO!

That's all for now. I am positive there will be more. If you find even one or two hints helpful then my sharing will not have been in vain.

Hey buddy, can you spare a dime?

So- it is with a heavy heart (and rear end) that I come to you tonight. I am officially jobless it seems. No- surprisingly enough, Rita didn't finally get fed up and give me the axe. Rita finally got fed up and is giving the whole store the axe. I am a little sadder than I thought I would be. (Though, obviously not too sad to be watching some 30ish crackhead on Intervention(on A&E) admit to his parents that he hasn't showered in 5 weeks and then get on his bike and speed over to one of his girlfriends house because she just bought $100 worth of crack. Did I mention the girlfriend appears to be betwen 60-70? Yum.) Anyway, as I was saying, how often do you find a job that you look forward to going to? One where even a bad day is a good day if you know what I mean. I don't think those kinds of jobs wander by with much frequency. This begs the question: Now that I am a jobless loser, what next? Am I psychotic enough to work at the Post Office like Tim wants me to? Do I go on the dole and start panhandling on the weekends? Do I embrace my unemployed state, eat Cheetos and watch t.v. from my couch until I become fused to it and have to be trucked out of my living room? Is is still profitable to shake down hookers on State Street? Is there any possible way to sue one of my former co-workers for sexual harrassment and win?(I'm thinking lewd notes in the back room here. What do you think?) With my supreme back-fat; is stripping even an option anymore? Do I just throw myself on the mercy of my husband despite the fact that I am now not pulling my weight? (except when I occasionally get off of the couch) Ah me, so many things to ponder, so little brain power. I'm off to bed to think (drink?) myself to sleep. I suspect I will find sleep a little elusive tonight with so many wonderful options in front of me. (well that and the fact that I just watched half of Wildest Dating Show Moments on E! and I can't stop throwing up in my mouth yet.)

P.S. Of course the smelly crackhead went to rehab. Don't lie. I know you've been wondering. No, they didn't make him shower before they put him on the cross country flight. Love it.

Okay

Whatever.

ABC's of...CRAP!

I decided that I had better get this ABC thingy done since Emily tagged me and I don't want her to hit or yell at me again. Here it is:

A- Attached or single: I prefer to keep all of my limbs attached, thanks you.
B- Best Friend: my pimp
C-Cake or Pie: Whatev. As long as it's not the kind with chocolate ex-lax.
D-Day: When the voices in my head stop screaming.
E- Essential Item: Edible underwear.
F-Favorite Color: The color of love and tenderness and fluffy baby bunnies.
G-Gummi Bears or Worms: gummy rats
H-Home town: Crazyopolis, on the corner of passive aggressive and overly emotional.
I- Indulgences: just a little crack smokin'
J- January or July?: What's so great about those? Why can't it be March vs September-or-The 17th of May vs the 13th of Nov.? Huh? Jerks.
K-Kids: Evil. Like the Devil.
L-Life is incomplete without: Coke/Pepsi and a nice set of matching back fat.
M- Marriage Date: All Hallows Eve.
N- Number of Siblings: I need a clarification here. Are we talking the ones my Mom gave birth to or the ones that I actually claim?
O- Oranges or Apples: Haven't you ever heard of fruit salad you elitist sob's?
P- Phobias or Fears: Mismatched paper colors, women that shave their armpits and legs, large chunks of cheese.
Q- Quote: "I wanna go pet the wounded goat!"
R- Reason To Smile: I haven't wet my pants again today.
T- Tag Three: If I had known we were playing tag, I would have worn different shoes.
U- Unknown Fact About Me: My sense of humor is painful to everyone but me and could possibly indicate mental instability. Surprise!
V- Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animal: Oppressor of animals-totally. PETA has been trying to get me to free my herd of pack kittens and puppies for years. I always lose a few each spring when we head up the mountain with all of my supplies.
X-Rays or Ultrasounds: I didn't know we got to just choose.
Y-Your favorite food: Jello shots,Tainted meat sandwiches and medium rare chicken-basted with sun brewed mayonaise.
Z: Zodiac Sign: Restroom For Customers Only.

Oh, Woe

In keeping with the Master Plan of weeping and wailing and knashing of teeth, I submit my first(hopefully lucrative) tales of woe. Here are all of my reasons to be depressed this week. In list form of course-Why be original?

I managed to consume 56 ounces of Coke/Pepsi day before yesterday.

Turner heard me call her teacher a, well, a bad name. Let's leave it at that-shall we?

I just listened to a Billy Squire song. Yes, the whole thing. On purpose. No, it wasn't The Stroke.

I have been praying for David Archuleta to fall off of the American Idol stage and land on Paula Abdul. I don't even watch that show and I am unbelievably sick of him. Even if he is from Utah, do we really want to root for someone that could turn even an AC/DC song into elevator music if he sang it?

I made notes on scrapbook projects all through Relief Society yesterday. And then left early so I didn't have to listen to the testimonies. Hell, anyone?

I made fun of a really clueless lady at work. And enjoyed it.

I don't have matching towels in my bathroom. And won't have in the near future.

My neck resembles that of a turkey so much that I can rent myself out as a decoy during hunting season.

I deliberately avoided fulfilling my church calling this week because I. Didn't. Want. To. Once again, Hell anyone?

I can just feel the crushing depression lifting. Thanks for listening. After staring at the ceiling all night I'm sure I'll have a new list and will need your compassionate shoulder to cry on tomorrow.

Cash, checks and money orders are accepted.

The Plan

The other day I saw this bit on the news about some chick here in Utah that has a blog that is pretty famous. She has even been on Good Morning America(woo woo!) or something. Well the story is that she was always depressed and crap and blogging helped her turn her life around. She used to be a member of the church but now she hates it because apparently we are all a bunch of judgmental jerks that won't ever support depressed people because it means you are evil or something. And her parents are mean and didn't like it and blah blah blah. But NOW she has her own website and she and her hubby live on the income that she gets from it. Oy. I feel like an idiot because all of these years whenever I have had a hard time I just figured out a way to deal and didn't make the world suffer with me. Man am I stupid. So- I have a new plan. I am abandoning the whole bad poems and rambling drivel blog. I am going to be sad and whiny about eveything and all of you are going to send me money. Thats right. From now on it's boo hoo all of the time. Except when I am counting my cash, obviously. Of course this chick doesn't just blog about depressed crap all of the time anymore but I need to start out the same way she did to get the goods in the end. Maybe I'll get lucky and my blog will get me fired fom my job like hers did and then I won't have to deal with the fact that I am mostly going to hell because of some of the things that I say and think about most of the people there. Wow. That last sentence was a doozy. Do they give out prizes for most rambly run on sentence? Thank (boo) you (hoo) for (waaa) your (waaa) support. That will be five dollars please.

Road Trip!

On the road.
The view of my sad looking mug from the front passenger-side window. Magnificent!
The road again. A different one.
A random gully with people running from it.
A portrait of a foot in repose.

With the specter of spring break looming overhead, the idea of being stuck together for a week forced us to the open road and escape. We drove Highway 191 which links Highway 6(just above Helper) to whatever Highway runs through Duchesne-where we spent 30 hours waiting for them to bring us our food at a little place called Carlings Country Kitchen. Needless to say, we didn't actually dare to look in the kitchen. The waitress was a peach let me tell ya. You could tell she was really happy to be there serving us. It was super duper fun! Yea! I took pics of all the best parts for your enjoyment. Last one to the car is roadkill!!

Cutting back

I have decided that I have no choice but to cut back a little on the booze. At least before bed. I can't handle many more dreams like the last few. They have been weighing heavily on my mind and I was hoping if I wrote about them here I could figure them out better. Everybody knows that unless it is a sexy dream about Bret Michaels and Donnie Wahlberg(We all know what that means Krysta!) everything in your dreams mean something. Everything.
In the first dream, I was in a large, rickety house and was using a HUGE piece of chalk to write words on the wall that kept getting increasingly smaller and smaller at a slant towards the bottom corner of the wall. When I was almost done someone came in to tell me that my Mom had recieved a letter from my crazy sister(2 pages-on parchment no less). In it she went on and on about how my Mom had ruined her life because she(my sister) had actually started out life as a small boy in a little village in Africa and she was upset because my Mom had made her grow up into what she was now. She had wanted to remain a little African boy and was going to sue my Mom. That was after the dream where I had to come up with 200 words that meant the same thing and started with w and all I could think of was the words who, what and where. Then last night I had a dream that was pretty much a parade of colored animals that kept bloating up with big huge pustules as they enlarged themselves. If I could draw you a picture of the bright purple porcupine, you would throw up a little in your mouth I am sure. So- I guess all I can do now is lay off the sauce and hope some psych student happens upon this, takes pity on me and helps me out. Because really, is there anyone more pitiable?

Food for Thought

As you may well know, the author James Frey was in the news recently. His book, A Million Little Pieces was exposed as a work of fiction. When it came out a few years ago it was released as a true story. Apparently, he was going to submit it as a novel but didn't think anyone would buy it that way and decided to sell it as a memoir. I found a copy of the book at the D.I. for a buck and bought it. I have wanted to read it since it came out and was now intrigued because of all of the uproar about it. I just finished reading it this week. It is a gut wrenching, incredible book. It was one of those books that you read wide eyed and can't stop reading even though you may be uncomfortable or whatever. Here is the question then: Is it a more impressive feat to be able to write about these awful, unbelievable things without having gone through them first? Whether I liked the book or not is irrelevant. Does it truly matter that he didn't actually go through everything in the book? I can't quite decide what I think. Maybe if James Frey would trade me bank account balances for awhile I could clear my head and figure it out.